


Ten Weeks of the Ripper

by Shutterbug5269



Category: Castle
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-05 10:55:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 71,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1816039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shutterbug5269/pseuds/Shutterbug5269
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fresh from their honeymoon in Bora Bora, Newlyweds Rick and Kate catch their first case as husband and wife. A serial killer preying on prostitutes in Washington Heights. Is he the reincarnation of Jack The Ripper or just a deranged psychopath? My first and possiblly only case fic. Much thanks to @Dtrekker for the amazing cover art. My second entry for #CastleFicathon</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wedding Bells and Dark Alleyways

**Chapter One  
Wedding Bells and Dark Alleyways**

* * *

_Bright is the moon high in starlight_  
 _Chill is the air cold as steel tonight_  
 _We shift_  
 _Call of the wild_  
 _Fear in your eyes_  
 _It's later than you realized_

Metallica, Of Wolf and Man

* * *

June 26th 2014

" _Richard and Katherine, by the power vested in me by God and the State of New York, I now pronounce you man and wife. That which God has joined, let no man put asunder."_

" _You may kiss the bride."_

Rick pulled Kate to him and they kissed for the first time as man and wife. A long, slow tender joining of lips that had even Lanie Parrish craving ice water. They both knew that this day had been a long time coming, and much had stood in their way. Fate, and their own insecurities had played their part in near equal measure. Near death experiences had abounded...for both of them.

They were supposed to have been man and wife for over a month now, but fate had again thrown up a roadblock for them to surmount.

Kate's unknown previous marriage, made in a drunken haze and forgotten for nearly fifteen years had made one last fleeting attempt to steal their happiness but they had endured that, together. Got it sorted and then tragedy had nearly stolen the moment from them again that very same day.

The sight of Rick's Mercedes (the same one that had first brought her to this very spot where they now stood as man and wife) burning in that ravine would be seared into her brain forever and likely factor into her nightmares for years to come. Like the day the New Amsterdam Bank and Trust had exploded with Rick and Martha inside had for much of the first year they were together. Like that day in DC when the super-virus had nearly killed him and he had collapsed into her arms. She'd thought she had lost him.

For a few heartbreaking minutes, she had thought an uncaring universe had stolen him from her on the very day for which they had waited nearly five long years.

Until Rick stumbled out of the trees, having clawed his way up out of the ravine to get to her and collapsed at her feet, succumbing to blood loss and a concussion. His clothes were torn and bloody, his hands a mess of torn skin. She had ridden with him in the ambulance to the small hospital in Southampton, then the helicopter to New York Presbyterian, all without changing out of her mother's dress. How she hadn't gotten any of his blood on it, she would never know.

He had been unconscious for three days while he recovered from the blood loss that had nearly killed him, his hands swathed in bandages. Kate had spent nearly the entire time at his side. Stepping out out of his hospital room only to slip into the change of clothing Alexis had brought her from the loft and for calls of nature. He had been released a day later after careful observation.

It had taken three weeks of physical therapy to get his hands functioning properly again, another week after that for the skin to fully heal, though even now he had taken to wearing soft leather gloves to hide the scars on his hands. Scars that would be visible for years. Martha had bought him very fine expensive white gloves to go with his new Armani tuxedo.

He kept telling everyone he wasn't ashamed of them, that they were a symbol of his devotion to Kate Beckett. An outward sign that he had literally clawed his way out of hell for her. He knew the sight of them unnerved people, especially Martha and Alexis. It made him self-conscious; he had always been fastidious about his appearance, bordering on metro-sexual.

She had found him the perfect pair of soft leather gloves, almost the same color as his skin, ones he would not need to remove to put on the crime scene gloves they wore. She wanted him to know she understood his need to feel normal.

When the New York State Police investigators had discovered evidence that Rick's crash had _not_ been an accident, that tire marks near the accident scene indicated a P.I.T. maneuver had been employed at excessive speed to force him off the road. Most likely by a dark colored SUV seen on traffic cameras leaving the scene at high speed. The huntress in Kate had been re-ignited. She had gone to Riker's Island to visit William Bracken that very afternoon. She had walked into the visitation room with her interrogation face on, disconnected the camera and told him in no uncertain terms precisely what his life would be worth if any further "accidents" befell her family.

The last two weeks had been spent rescheduling the wedding. Together, they recreated the wedding in the Hamptons they were supposed to have with near perfect accuracy. Right down to place settings, music, her mother's dress, Martha's mother's earrings...everything. Bringing them to this moment.

" _Richard and Katherine, by the power vested in me by God and the State of New York, I now pronounce you man and wife. That which God has joined, let no man put asunder."_

" _You may kiss the bride."_

It was their fairy tale. _They_ chose to be the ones to write it. Not the brothers Grimm, not Jerry Tyson, and sure as hell not former Senator William _fucking_ Bracken.

Everything that came between them before was swept away.

* * *

June 29th,, 11:45 PM  
Washington Heights

Elena Markhova (she never did grasp how Americans always seemed to get the matronymic of her family name wrong) stalked the dark, quiet alleyways of Washington Heights' unofficial "red light" district. Essentially a series of low rent hotels that took a policy of _don't ask/don't tell_ when it came to prostitution.

She knew her quarry, Emma Smith, could be found here on a nightly basis, walking the corner for her current pimp. Emma was a pretty thing -for a street walking prostitute- intelligent, too. Likely college educated at one time. That was one of the reasons why the late Vulcan Simmons had hired her to count the drug money being sent to Future Forward for her employer, the now former Senator William Bracken.

He may not be a United States Senator anymore, and he may have been indicted for the many crimes he had committed on his climb up the political food chain, but he still commanded enough money to pay her fee. As long as that was the case, she would continue to do the job he had hired her for. Namely, to clean house from the drug cartel that had been created to fund his now fatally stalled presidential campaign.

His political aspirations now over, he had become _more_ dangerous not less. They may have him for enough murders to keep him in prison for the next twenty five years to life, but as he told her in their last communication, he would be dammed if they would get him for _anything_ else. If he ever did get out, (which for man with his connections was exceedingly likely) he would have enough resources to set himself up someplace comfortable. Preferably in a country that did not have an extradition treaty with the United States.

So she was still out here, still cleaning up his mess. She didn't care, she was well compensated for her services.

Emma Smith had just gotten out of a car, after performing her _professional_ services for the man inside, and was about to take up her usual position on the street corner when Elena approached her. A very convincing fake NYPD detective's badge, bearing the number 41319 (Elena had a keen sense of irony, using the badge number of the one life she had ever been paid to save to help do her dirty work) had the young prostitute walking into the alley with her, expecting a shakedown for information from a Vice cop.

Emma Smith turned to face her, the usual denial on her lips. "Look, bitch, I don't talk to cops."

As the hand behind Elena's back twitched, flipping the military-grade Spyderco knife open, she said the one thing Emma's experience as a street hooker hadn't prepared her for.

"I don't expect that you do." Elena stated quietly.

Emma's eyes went wide with terror as she caught sight of the knife in Elena's hand a fraction of a second too late. The plea for mercy, that she wouldn't tell anyone anything, began on her lips and died there as Elena's razor sharp blade bisected her carotid artery with near surgical skill.

Elena sidestepped, in a practiced motion, which allowed her to get clear of most of the arterial spray. Emma's blood painted the alley wall an angry swatch of red instead, before she collapsed, her eyes pleading before they clouded over. Emma Smith was dead before she hit the ground.

"Do svidanya" Elena whispered,

As she walked with a measured stride out of the darkened alley, she removed a red handkerchief from her pocket, cleaned her knife with it, then slid them both into a plastic sandwich bag.

She couldn't help but notice the dark shadow stand over her handiwork for a moment, then move to follow her out. She tensed, her hand on the grip of the gun she carried for self-defense purposes. The one she had used to silence Vulcan Simmons, which had once been registered in Kate Beckett's name. She expected an attack, but the man stuck to the shadows and was gone before she could get a good look at him.

Elena knew almost instinctively that she was not the only predator stalking Washington Heights that night, and this one was not a professional like herself. There was no code, no professional courtesy she could rely upon with this one. The shadow that had stood over her kill was something else entirely. Something darker, more malevolent, a shadow whispered in the dark of night like in her great grandmother's stories from before the _Great Patriotic War_.

Something dark and evil was stalking the shadows of Washington Heights, and she knew she wanted no part of it. Even with all of her training, all of her self confidence, Elena Markhova shivered, and not from the evening's unusual chill.

For the first time in her adult life, Elena Markhova experienced real fear.

* * *

_*Author's note* For those who don't know, "The Great Patriotic War" is the name the Russians used for World War Two. And a_ _PIT maneuver, or "precision immobilization technique",_ _is a pursuit tactic by which a pursuing car can force a fleeing car to abruptly turn sideways, causing the driver to lose control and stop._

_Strap in, this one is going to be dark and angsty. (big surprise, right?)_


	2. Once More Into the Breach

**Chapter Two**   
**Once More Into the Breech**

* * *

" _Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;  
Or close the wall up with our English dead..." _

William Shakespeare: Henry The Fifth Act 3, scene 1

* * *

_Previously_

_Elena knew almost instinctively that she was not the only predator stalking Washington Heights that night, and this one was not a professional like herself. There was no code, no professional courtesy she could rely upon with this one. The shadow that had stood over her kill was something else entirely. Something darker, more malevolent, a shadow whispered in the dark of night like in her great grandmother's stories from before the _Great Patriotic War_._

_Something dark and evil was stalking the shadows of Washington Heights, and she knew she wanted no part of it. Even with all of her training, all of her self-confidence, Elena Markhova shivered, and not from the evening's unusual chill._

_For the first time in her adult life, Elena Markhova experienced real fear._

* * *

**Castle loft**   
**Rick and Kate's bedroom**   
**August 31, 2014**

" _Beckett. Where? Washington Heights? Okay be there in twenty."_

Kate Beckett Castle had been back in active rotation for only three days when her first new murder case had come in. She had been on desk duty and active reserve for the last two weeks, filling out paperwork and looking over cold cases, mostly from home, at the insistence of Captain Gates, as well as the Chief of Detectives and the Police commissioner.

After three attempts on her life in the past two years and one on Richard Castle's, orders had come down from the top brass that Kate Beckett was not to hit the streets until Internal Affairs was finished purging the 12th Precinct (as well as several other precincts in Manhattan) of Bracken's network of informants and corrupt cops, including Lieutenant Fowler's Narcotics unit. She was one of the primary witnesses in the William Bracken murder trial, so she had been benched, with pay, until then.

In the end Fowler hadn't been dirty, but enough of his high-ranking people were, (most notably the cops charged with Kate's safety on her solo mission) so in the end he had fallen on his sword and retired from law enforcement, taking a half-pension. Gates felt an intense wave of guilt for pushing that mission on her, especially now that she knew how deep the corruption in that unit had gone.

It had been five o'clock in the morning when she'd gotten the call, jarring Kate awake on one of the few nights that she and Rick hadn't been up all night making love - something they had been doing a lot since their wedding night.

She wanted to think _thankfully_ but for the reason why.

Rick had come back from one of his last visits to the physical therapist the evening before. The session had been particularly brutal, _at Rick's insistence_ , because he knew she was back on the rotation and she needed him. He had pushed himself way too hard and she could tell as soon as she had looked at him when he'd come home last night that he had been worn out both physically and emotionally.

After a phone call to his physical therapist, (one of the side benefits of finally being _Mrs. Castle_ ) she had learned he'd climbed the rock wall...again...and again...and again...as if trying to purge the demons from that climb out of the ravine by sheer force of will alone.

It killed her inside that he was doing this to himself. That he was doing it to himself because of _her_. She had told him again and again that he had nothing to prove, but he had been driven by something deep inside that she couldn't touch and couldn't reason with. She hadn't seen this focused, this driven since Alexis had been taken. The single-minded drive to protect the ones he loved, a drive that could lead him to very dark places if she let it. She knew that it was up to her to lead him back from that darkness, just like he had done for her since their unusual partnership had begun.

She had run a bath and they'd sat in the tub together, Kate letting him hold her like she knew he needed to while the hot water, bath salts and bubbles worked on his overburdened muscles, while she hoped that her presence soothed his soul.

Bath time was usually her private time, a chance for her to decompress after a long day. He'd run her a bath and left her alone the night that the senate vote had come down, removing William Bracken from office. Even his political cronies had abandoned him, the vote nearly unanimous with only one abstention, clearing the way for his trial slated for some time next year.

In a fit of piqué, the governor of New York had appointed Evelyn Montgomery to fill his seat for the rest of his term and an election could be held. He'd said it was _poetic justice._ Rick had told her that it was Mayor Weldon who had put her name forward. Citing the two decades of exemplary service to the City of New York. Kate had thought it was fitting that the wife of one of those he hurt would be taking over his seat in the halls of power. Poetic justice indeed.

Now it was time for her life to move forward, even though that meant that somebody's life had come to an end. She had finally gotten justice for her mother, Bracken would have his day in court and be punished for his many crimes. But for her mother's justice to have meaning, it was time to move forward and get that same justice for others, like her mother would have wanted. Her mother had always told her that pursuit of justice had no end.

As Kate debated whether or not to wake Rick up, his muffled voice floated up from the bed while she was getting dressed.

"Kate...whossat?" he mumbled, "Precinct?"

"Yeah," she replied, "honeymoon's over, babe, a body just dropped."

She sat on the bed next to him to pull on her socks then her boots, her _power heels._ They made her feel like Detective Beckett again, rolling out to do the job that had become her life's calling. It was harder to balance Det. Beckett with Mrs. Castle than she had thought it would be, but the life she was building with Rick was worth that effort. She slipped on her father's watch, and the necklace holding her mother's ring. Last but not least, she slipped the simple gold band onto her left ring finger. The symbol of the life she was building; one small addition to her morning ritual before slipping her badge and gun, but one with great significance to her.

She had a fancier, more extravagant ring for when they went out, the one he'd slipped onto her finger the day they were married. The one she'd worn proudly during their entire honeymoon. This small simple gold band was the one concession between her job and the man she loved. He had, of course, known she couldn't wear _that_ ring at the precinct or at crime scenes. She had agonized over how to break it to him, but in the end, he had understood without her having to say a word.

She remembered how floored she had been when he had given it to her that last night in Bora Bora. The inscription on it matched the one on his. _Always._ That sweet endearing man had actually paraphrased The Lord of the Rings on a slip of real handmade parchment paper...in Tolkien's Elvish with English on the reverse, when he had presented it to her in the hotel's four star restaurant.

" _One ring to make them both._  
One ring to find them.  
One ring to rule these two,  
and in their joined hearts bind them"

She had cried, her tears unrestrained at his thoughtfulness. It was so endearingly sweet how he had acknowledged the inner Sci Fi geek in her, and the not-so-hidden one in him. Something private between the two of them, though she did sense his daughter's hand in the presentation. That small slip of parchment now lived in the same drawer of her desk as the stick man she had made with her father so long ago. Another symbol of finding joy even in the dark times.

She couldn't help the parting shot as she headed for the door after putting on her jewelry, however.

"You coming, Castle?"

Rick stirred and rose slowly without a moment's hesitation. "I'll start the coffee and jump in the shower, be ready in fifteen minutes."

* * *

**Twenty Minutes Later**  
Alley outside the Palermo Club  
Washington Heights

No matter how much she tried to hide or deny it, Kate always felt a nearly overpowering sense of dread every time she came near this alley. The one where her mother was found stabbed to death. To see crime scene tape stretched across it again awakened feelings in her she had thought long buried. Demons she'd thought slain not so long ago.

Lanie was kneeling over a body not five feet from where her mother had been left lying among the trash by Dick Coonan. The desire to run somewhere and throw up or scream, or something equally unprofessional nearly overwhelmed her, until she felt a comforting hand on her back.

" _How had I even contemplated not waking him up earlier?"_ Kate thought to herself. _"The one person still alive who truly understands."_

She felt the rhythmic stroking of his fingers on the base of her spine and the quiet whisper that she just barely heard over the hubbub of the crime scene.

"It's all right Kate, you've got this."

The very same words he had told her after Mitch Yancey had pointed a shotgun at her nearly three years ago. The words she needed most to hear. The ones that put her back in control, propelling her forward under the crime scene tape and into the alley, Castle right at her heels, just he had been for the past six years; her solid right hand, the wall keeping her heart safe, now that she had finally torn down the ones she had built herself.

If she had to walk into this alley again, it was... _right..._ somehow that he was here with her. Standing just off her right shoulder, ready to dust her off and put her back on her feet if she stumbled; a joke or a kind word to lighten the oppressive mood if she needed it. For the first time in her life she was completely okay with that, that she had actually surrendered nothing by letting him all the way in.

"What do you have for me, Lanie?" she said, kneeling next to the body of a woman appeared to be in her early thirties.

"According to the ID in her wallet, her name is Mary Anne Nichols, aged thirty-two. She was found two hours ago by a college student cutting through the alley. Liver temp puts her time of death around three-thirty AM."

Kate nearly blanched when Lanie pointed out the knife wounds, comforted only by Rick's feather light touch on her shoulder, as if he'd read her mind, as Lanie continued, feigning ignorance of her discomfort, mindful of all the crime scene techs and officers at the scene. Her eyes saying all they needed to convey to Kate, before returning to her task: pointing out each injury.

"Her throat had been slit twice from left to right and her abdomen mutilated with one deep jagged wound, several incisions across the abdomen, and three or four similar cuts on the right side, likely caused by a knife at least six to eight inches long used violently and downwards."

"At first I thought this was a pop and drop, because I couldn't find enough blood to account for all of these injuries, but then I turned her over and found this."

Lanie turned the scantily clad woman over, her eyes wide with concern for her friend as she revealed a wound that made Kate's skin turn white. The similarity to her mother's wound pattern was glaringly evident.

"A single sharp stab wound to the kidneys. Given the lack of blood at the scene, I would guess death had been nearly instantaneous. I'll know more when I get her back to the lab."

Kate found it hard to breathe as she fought for control; fought to keep her roiling emotions in check when it finally hit her where she had seen this woman before. A day she wanted to be able to forget, but was etched forever into her psyche. She still had nightmares about it.

"I'm sorry, baby." Lanie whispered. Her eyes flashing to Rick, as if to say _"Get her out of here."_

Rick complied without conscious thought, his hand returning to her back. A gentle hand touched hers, brushing the gold band on her finger as he led her quietly out of the alley, not speaking a word as she ordered officers at the scene to continue the canvas. Her voice unwavering, words spoken by rote as he found a quiet spot where nobody would see her collapse into him.

"I've met that woman before." Kate whispered as she leaned into his embrace, his arms wrapped tight around her, holding her together in a way she had never before known she had needed till this man had bumbled into her life like a bull in a china shop six years ago.

"She was in the compound where I was being held. I had borrowed her cell phone to make the second phone call, before I was made...before...before Simmons..."

Kate trailed off, she still, even now had trouble putting what was done to her that night into words. She had gone back to Dr. Burke after that incident. Her Detective's trained mind screaming that it was no coincidence that, when she was supposed to have been held incommunicado, that she had been allowed access to a phone, not once but twice. That she had been given the opportunity to let somebody know she was alive so they would continue to search for her...that she had been targeted.

"Elena Markov...it has to be." Kate muttered. "A stabbing death in _this_ alley? This can't be a coincidence."

Kate's voice shook, as Rick propped her up, letting her hug it out, something she had never before realized she'd needed from time to time; the reassurance that only Rick's strong presence, and his arms around her could provide. She'd tried to find this before, in the arms of men she didn't love, using them for sex and a warm body in her bed at night, but it had never been like this before. She had never let anyone this far in, never felt this...safe to be less than her best before with anyone else.

"Elena is still rolling up the drug cartel. Still cleaning his mess. Bracken is sending a message...even from prison." Kate whispered, barely wanting to voice the thought aloud.

"I thought she was more precise than this," Rick replied. "From what you described when she rescued you from Harten, she preferred quick and clean kills."

"If not her, then whom, Rick? If it isn't her then I have no place to start."

"Whether it's her or not, we will get to the bottom of this Kate. You've got this."

"Okay." Kate whispered, not sure if she believed him yet. But he seemed to have enough faith for the both of them. She would trust that, like she trusted him. See this case through to the end. Her posture straightened as she rose to her full height for the first time since walking into that alley. The fire inside her was finally flaring fully to life, giving her the drive to get to the bottom of this. She was filled with righteous anger at the injustice of it all. Nobody, not even a street prostitute, had deserved to die like this. Mary Anne Nichols' life had been savagely taken from her. Kate owed her this much. Prostitute or not, the woman deserved the same justice she had found her mother.

Kate kissed Rick firmly on the lips before stepping out of his embrace, a silent thank you for propping her up when she'd needed it; a promise of more later. Until then she would put her game face on and get to work.

"You coming, Castle?" she said over her shoulder, smiling sweetly at him before walking to the car, confident he was following close behind.

* * *

Neither of them noticed the dark figure behind them in the alley, hidden in the shadows.

He'd been waiting...and watching. Drawn to the chaos he'd created like a moth to a flame. The game had only just begun. He would let this Detective Beckett scurry in ignorance for a little while yet. Let her flush the other woman out for him first. They would all know his name soon. Her and that Russian bitch who'd gotten in his way before. When he'd made this corrupt cesspool of a city tremble in fear of the dark, his great great grandfather's name would be written in blood for all to see.

Jack.

* * *

*Author's note* Don't get too used to much of anything from Jack's point of view. The end of this chapter was merely screaming for some hyperbole. 1..2...Jack is coming for you...:-P 

Mark


	3. Comes The Inquisitor

**Chapter Three  
Comes the Inquisitor**

* * *

" _The city was drowning in decay, chaos, immorality.  
A message needed to be sent, etched in blood, for all the world to see..."_

Sebastian (aka Jack the Ripper) Babylon 5 episode "Comes the Inquisitor" (1995)

* * *

_Previously_

_"Whether it's her or not, we will get to the bottom of this Kate. You've got this."_

_"Okay." Kate whispered, not sure if she believed him yet. But he seemed to have enough faith for the both of them. She would trust that, like she trusted him. See this case through to the end. Her posture straightened as she rose to her full height for the first time since walking into that alley. The fire inside her was finally flaring fully to life, giving her the drive to get to the bottom of this. She was filled with righteous anger at the injustice of it all. Nobody, not even a street prostitute, had deserved to die like this. Mary Anne Nichols' life had been savagely taken from her. Kate owed her this much. Prostitute or not, the woman deserved the same justice she had found for her mother._

_Kate kissed Rick firmly on the lips before stepping out of his embrace, a silent thank you for propping her up when she'd needed it; a promise of more later. Until then she would put her game face on and get to work._

_"You coming, Castle?" she said over her shoulder, smiling sweetly at him before walking to the car, confident he was following close behind._

_Neither of them noticed the dark figure behind them in the alley, hidden in the shadows._

_He'd been waiting...and watching. Drawn to the chaos he'd created like a moth to a flame. The game had only just begun. He would let this Detective Beckett scurry in ignorance for a little while yet. Let her flush the other woman out for him first. They would all know his name soon. Her and that Russian bitch who'd gotten in his way before. When he'd made this corrupt cesspool of a city tremble in fear of the dark, his great, great, grandfather's name would be written in blood for all to see._

_Jack._

* * *

Kate had not been prepared for the applause that broke out when she and Rick walked into the 12th Precinct. _She_ had been in and out of the precinct for weeks, mostly to sit at her desk and chafe at the restrictions placed upon her. She had received all of the post-wedding hazing from the cops who had not been invited to the wedding. She had forgotten that Rick had not been to the precinct yet.

Between his physical therapy sessions and visits with Dr. Burke, (which she knew from personal experience COULD both be tiring and draining, each in their own way) he had not once set foot in the precinct. He took her for coffee each morning and dropped her at work. The rest of the time he spent writing at _The Old Haunt_. From what Rick shared with her, Burke thought it was great how he worked his personal demons out in his writing. The man hadn't been able to talk her into writing a journal, or even so much as a letter of her own when she had seen him before.

She was certain that Carter Burke found it refreshing to have a referral from the NYPD who had actually seemed to respect the therapy process.

Their married life during her two weeks of enforced desk-duty had settled into a quiet domesticity (between bouts of earth-shattering, bed-rocking, toe-curling monkey-sex) that Kate found oddly refreshing to come home to every night. They had both mostly recovered from their aborted first wedding attempt.

Their conjugal bliss had prompted another change in living arrangements, one not wholly unexpected, at least not to Kate. Alexis had moved back to the dorms the week before, citing that her father and stepmother's nightly activities returning to _"normal"_ had made her decide to _"move back before she required extensive therapy."_ The last part stated with one terra cotta brow raised and her forehead crinkled in mock exasperation...laced with enough humor to let Kate know that it was more about giving them their privacy than about her feeling pushed out. She'd left enough of her things in her room to assure her father she'd be back often.

Now that Rick had returned to the precinct things were starting to come back to normal. Kate was almost glad in a way that they had kept her off active rotation until he came back. She was a competent detective in her own right, had been long before Rick came along, but Captain Montgomery had been right, she wasn't having any fun before. It made the job lighter, easier to manage somehow.

Rick had barely reached her desk to watch her write what they had so far on the murder board, when she heard the door to Captain Gates' office open.

"Detective Beckett, can I see you in my office for a moment?"

Castle sat down heavily in his chair, sensing that he was not going be invited to participate in this discussion. Kate's reaction to the nature of the crime scene had obviously not gone as unnoticed as either of them would have liked. Though Rick was making a very good show of looking at the murder board, trying to come up with a theory...any theory...his eyes repeatedly found themselves pointed at the drawn blinds of the captain's now closed office door. A dead giveaway to where his heart really was...or wanted to be.

Ryan noticed.

He had been watching Castle since he first came in with Beckett after viewing the crime scene. Between himself and Javi, he had spent the most time studying Rick over the years. The two of them had a lot in common, even before they shared the burden of Jerry Tyson's escape from custody and the murders he had committed since then.

Ryan knew the reason behind the gloves the writer now wore everywhere. Knew that beneath them were the scarred hands of a man who had clawed his way out of a burning car and then up a steep ravine, slowly bleeding out the whole way to get to Kate last May. He knew Castle was worried about her, they all were. This style killing, in that alley, with that wound pattern had stirred things up in Kate this morning that everybody, including her, had hoped had been put to rest after the arrest of William Bracken.

But here was Kate's husband, her partner in more ways than one, seated in his chair looking like a lost puppy. Trying desperately to look productive like the rest of the team, while in truth, wanting nothing more than to be in that office with her, and knowing why he couldn't be. Kate had to prove that she could stand up for herself. That she could convince "Iron Gates" that she can work this case and not lose perspective like she had every single other time the ghost of her mother's case had come back to bite her on the ass.

"Detective, are you sure you should be working this case?" Gates asked point blank as soon as she was seated at her desk and Kate had closed the door.

"Yes sir, I can handle it. Seeing the victim, in the alley where my mother was...found...was just a shock, nothing more." Kate replied.

"From what I hear you know the victim." Gates responded, intentionally laying down the gauntlet, "Are you sure this won't be a conflict of interest?"

Indignation flared in Kate's eyes for a moment, she had recognized the trap that Gates had laid out. She forced the anger down with no small amount of effort and took a deep breath before responding almost casually.

"I spoke to her for less than five minutes in the compound where I was being held last spring. I borrowed her cell phone to call Esposito, that didn't make us besties."

"And if your killer does turn out to be this...Elena Markov?" Gates shot back, her glasses lying perilously close to the tip of her nose as she looked over them at Kate.

"Then I will bring her in and put her in a cage just like I did her employer...provided she chooses to come along quietly," Kate stated without malice, though she knew it was entirely likely that Markov would most definitely not come quietly.

"Fair enough, Detective. I'll let you work this for now. But I will be keeping an eye on you. If I think you're losing perspective I will pull you off and assign somebody else."

"Understood, sir." Kate replied.

"Get back to work, detective, before your partner sprains something trying _not_ to look in here."

Gates pushed her glasses back in place and and waved her off as she looked back down at her COMPSTAT reports, hiding an amused grin with the paperwork that had become the bane of her existence, amused at having used Castle to have the last word.

"How did those two _ever_ think they could have hidden their relationship from me." Gates muttered to herself.

Had anyone told her three years ago that the _dilettante writer playing cop_ she had thrown out of her precinct after she had arrived would actually grow on her, she would have had them committed. She'd known ever since that day on the roof, after Beckett had been pulled to safety, there was more than a partnership between those two. She was far from blind, nor was she stupid.

* * *

Kate walked back into the squad room and back to her desk, brushing a reassuring hand across Castle's shoulder as she lowered herself into her chair. She had meant to offer her husband a more substantial show of support when Ryan cleared his throat, interrupting their moment of non-verbal intimacy. Kate closed her eyes for a moment and counted to ten before she turned her chair to address him.

"What have you got Ryan?" she stated tersely, managing to keep _most_ of the irritation at his interruption out of her voice.

"More information about our vic." Ryan supplied, mildly chastened for having broken the moment. "Her prints were in the system."

"Lay it out for me Ryan." Kate said with a sigh, in her head trying to tally up how many times either Ryan or Esposito had interfered in a moment the two of them were having. The Boylen Place bombing being the one that still rankled her the most, leaving her still wondering to this day how things might have been different had they _had_ that conversation they were on the verge of at the time. Had she been able to make her feelings clear to him before the interrogation she only recently learned had set them back for months.

Tentatively, Ryan gave her the short version of Mary Anne Nichols criminal record.

"Mary Anne Nichols, born Mary Anne Walker August 26 1980, was two years into college at NYU when both parents were killed in a car accident in 1998. Obviously her tuition money ran out and she ended up on the street. Had her first arrest for solicitation in 1999."

Kate nodded, and waved for Ryan to continue, though Esposito who took up where his partner left off.

"Two more arrests for criminal possession of a controlled substance since then and two more for solicitation. Seems she had kicked the habit on her second turn in jail, but couldn't quite get out of the life. I imagine given her level of education that made her a shoe in for that thing Simmons had going on."

Esposito flinched a little when Kate closed her eyes at the mention of the man who had tortured her that night. They had all seen the vat of water in the room where she had been water-boarded. Traces of her blood had still been in the water. Castle's reaction nearly matched hers.

"It would seem that you had met her before your abduction, Beckett." Ryan stated, eyeing his partner and giving him a look that said, " _nice going moron"_ along with an elbow in the ribs, before completing the thought, "According to this the collar for her second arrest in 2006 was credited to Officer K. Beckett, 12th Precinct."

Kate had wondered how the woman could have "accidentally" stumbled into the locked room where she had been held just in time to loan her her cell phone. Obviously it had not been nearly so serendipitous after all. The woman had recognized her and hadn't ratted her out, since she had lasted as "Elena" for several more hours after that. She owed Mary Anne Nichols her life.

The only thing she could do now to repay the woman was find the dirtbag who killed her.

Kate had barely placed all of the pertinent information on the murder board, including her photo from the crime scene and the very thin time-line for her last movements. Under suspects, a booking photo for Elena Markov, taken when she had been trying to resemble Kate Beckett enough to get Fowler to enlist her in the sting, was tacked to the board under the suspect heading.

Anne's pimp, William "Crazy Billy" Traynor, also could not be ruled out. He was known by vice to have a violent disposition. According to the canvas, he had stated he was out at the nightclub he co-owned all that night. So she sent Ryan and Esposito out to run down his alibi for the previous night between two-thirty and four o'clock AM, their window for her murder.

No sooner had Kate finished her work on the whiteboard, written everything that had thus far been collected and settled into her office chair, the phone on her desk rang.

"Beckett." she spoke into the receiver, her face softening at the sound of the voice on the other end.

"Yes Lanie I'm still on the case, no...I'm fine...Okay, Castle and I will be down shortly."

Rick perked up a little that they would be able to get out of the now seemingly oppressive confines of the precinct. He was beginning to understand why he had avoided the place during Kate's desk duty when there would have been nothing for him to do. Since the car wreck, he had found himself not overly fond of enclosed or crowded spaces.

When there was nothing for him to do, nothing for him to wrap his mind around, those last moments before the airbag on the Mercedes popped...when he knew he wasn't getting control of the car back...watching in terror as he went over the embankment...played on infinite repeat whenever he closed his eyes.

Going outside, even if it was just the artificial canyons of Manhattan, was the only thing that soothed him. Getting out and being active was the only thing that kept those images at bay.

"Come on Castle, Lanie has something for us down at the morgue."

Rick was up before she finished the sentence, holding her jacket for her. Hoping he didn't seem too eager for the excursion.

* * *

Elena Markov knew she was being hunted. Not just by the police, that was to be expected, she killed people for a living. Interpol had been hunting for her for years. Police had rules that they were required to follow, they had to have evidence before they could come after her.

More evidence than the shaky recollections of a detective who had been barely conscious at the time. They didn't even have proof that she had killed her guard at the hospital. She had little to fear from the police, the worst they could do was send her to prison. Anyone who had ever seen the inside of a Russian woman's prison, which she had, would laugh at how soft American prisons were.

Prison might not be so unattractive an option, given her circumstances, but it was still one of last resort.

What was hunting her was no cop. He was a shadow in darkened alleyways, one she kept seeing even when she knew nobody was there. This was no mere man she was being hunted by, somebody who hunted people for money or ideology. Those she understood. She was part of that world, had been since she was twelve years old and been rejected as a ballet dancer when someone thought the fluidity of her movements could be set to a different purpose.

What was hunting her was something else entirely, someone evil and twisted. She had gotten in his way, placed herself on his radar and now she was prey. She knew it was only a matter of time before he came for her.

When that moment arrived, she would have to be ready for the fight of her life.

* * *

_*Author's note* The thing I had Castle doing, recalling over and over the last seconds before his crash. The need to get out and be active, because the walls would begin to close in...that happened to me. For quite a while after I wrecked my car, I found myself not enjoying being inside much, even though it was winter time. I still have a distinct distaste for small enclosed spaces. I can deal, but if I feel stuck there, it isn't pretty. A little dose of reality to go with my fiction._

_Mark_


	4. The Sleeper Has Awakened

**Chapter Four**   
**The Sleeper Has Awakened**

* * *

_Dear Boss...  
"Years from now, people will look back and say I gave birth to the 20th century..."_

Jack the Ripper From the movie, From Hell

* * *

____Previously_ _ _ _

__"Yes Lanie I'm still on the case, no...I'm fine...Okay, Castle and I will be down shortly."_ _

_Rick perked up a little that they would be able to get out of the now seemingly oppressive confines of the precinct. He was beginning to understand why he had avoided the place during Kate's desk duty when there would have been nothing for him to do. Since the car wreck, he had found himself not overly fond of enclosed or crowded spaces._

_When there was nothing for him to do, nothing for him to wrap his mind around, those last moments before the airbag on the Mercedes popped...when he knew he wasn't getting control of the car back...watching in terror as he went over the embankment...played on infinite repeat whenever he closed his eyes._

_Going outside, even if it was just the artificial canyons of Manhattan, was the only thing that soothed him. Getting out and being active was the only thing that kept those images at bay._

_"Come on Castle, Lanie has something for us down at the morgue."_

_Rick was up before she finished the sentence, holding her jacket for her. Hoping he didn't seem too eager for the excursion._

* * *

During the short drive to the morgue, Kate could tell there was something off with Rick, if she really thought about it, something had been off with him for a while now. Though she had not noticed any major symptoms of claustrophobia before, the evidence seemed to be stacking up.

He hadn't so much as gotten behind the wheel of a car since they came home. Even gave up the keys to the Ferrari the last time they weekended in the Hamptons without so much as a word of complaint, not even to needle her about the way she drove it.

He used the car service more than he used to, and his complaints about not being allowed to drive never seemed to surface lately. He didn't reach for her free hand or try to touch her when she was driving anymore either. He was eager to get out of the precinct that was certain, but in the car in traffic he seemed to fidget more than he used to. Though he tried to hide it, she could see the iron grip he had on the door handle.

Their honeymoon in the Maldives had been cut short by a side trip to Bora Bora after only a few days because of the closed off nature of their hotel suite. (it was a feature he had been very excited about when they made the reservations because he wanted to assure their privacy while they were there)

The hotel in Bora Bora had had a lot more large windows looking outside, and a large open plan private veranda that they both made a lot of use of, both for dinner and for lovemaking. She had thought it to be sweet and spontaneous at the time. Rick trying to keep the promise he had made to her that their marriage would not become boring. But now she was seeing something else entirely.

She had dismissed it at the time, but the one time she had suggested he come into the precinct with her to say hi to the boys, who hadn't seen him in weeks, he had demurred, using not antagonizing Captain Gates as an excuse.

At the look of disappointment she had leveled on him at this, he had promised to have them over for a poker night and did just that. She had thought nothing of it at the time, but the look that crossed his eyes, which he had been quick to hide from her, had not been nervous apprehension...it had been panic.

She made a point to herself to call Dr. Burke and let him know this was something he needed to bring up in their sessions if he hadn't already. Rick would be mad at her for that, but as his wife, his well being was now her responsibility.

When they got out of her police issued Charger, Kate saw Rick visibly relax. Though she knew they were going inside, she could sense a different vibe from him now that they were working a case. There was a purpose to the visit and they wouldn't be here long. She reached over and took his hand when they stepped into the elevator though, thankful they were the only occupants. She recalled what it had been like for her during the sniper case a few years ago, and shuddered involuntarily at the memory.

She suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of guilt for mocking him after the elevator incident when he thought he had been cursed. For the practical jokes she and the boys had played on him during that case. Making light of what she now knew was his genuine fear at the time. She felt guilty about a lot of things she had done (and many things she hadn't) back then, some more than others.

'Anybody tries that now, even Ryan and Espo, and I'll make em wish they'd never been born.' Kate thought to herself, almost surprised at how fiercely protective that sounded, even inside her own head.

Kate was thankful for the distraction when they finally stepped out of the elevator and found their way into the morgue. She was also happy that Perlmutter was away at a conference for medical examiners in Chicago. He was very good at this job, he and Lanie were two of the best in their field, but Rick really didn't need to deal with the man's obvious disdain for him right now, and she didn't need to be suspended for conduct unbecoming for punching him out.

"What do you have for us Lanie?" She asked, her game face on, but Lanie was having none of it.

"Don't think for one moment that I buy that 'I'm fine' you gave me over the phone. I saw you at that crime scene, you looked like you were gonna be sick. Should you really be working this?"

Lanie's eyes shown brightly with concern for her, Kate could see it. There was no condemnation or judgment in her tone or body language, but Kate seethed a little all the same.

"Lanie...please, I'm a big girl." Kate complained, her own body language making it clear that the subject was closed, or at least tabled for future discussion. Rick's hand was at her back now, his touch reassuring and calming at the same time, blunting her indignation at her friend.

"And no, Gates didn't find out about your reaction to the crime scene from me, I would never do that to you. Not without talking to you first. You know that, right?"

Kate nodded, knowing this to be true, her indignation followed by a questioning look.

"Yes, girlfriend, I know you got pulled into the principal's office, Javi still keeps me in the loop, even if he is making eyes at Tory now." Lanie said with a smirk.

Kate blushed a little, if Lanie was cracking jokes at her own expense, she knew her friend would back off, for now. But she knew the discussion wasn't over.

"Well I have learned quite a few things since we brought Mary Anne here into the lab and processed her." Lanie stated, pulling the sheet covering the woman's body.

"See this bruise here, running along the lower part of the jaw on the right side of the face? That might have been caused by a blow from a fist or pressure from a thumb."

Both Kate and Rick nodded at this and waited for her to continue.

"There's another circular bruise on the left side of her face which also might have been inflicted by the pressure of his fingers." Lanie said. "This is how I know her assailant was male, this rules Elena Markov out as your killer. I thought you might want to note that."

Kate wasn't sure if she was disappointed or elated at this news. Part of her had wanted to chase down Elena Markov, wanted to have something more to add to Bracken's guilt, but she also felt a twinge of gratitude to the woman for saving her life.

"This is where it gets gruesome," Lanie noted.

She went on to point out the series of injuries on the woman's neck and lower abdomen. "All of these injuries seem to have been carried out with the same weapon, you're looking for a straight single bladed instrument at least six to eight inches long and very sharp. By the wound pattern your doer is left handed, and knows how to cut into body. He has definitely done this before."

It took a lot to unnerve Lanie Parrish, but Kate could tell the absolutely brutal nature of this murder was bothering her.

"I can't tell you who did this," Lanie said, with a slight tremble in her voice, "but he is not a professional, he's something much worse. The shot to her kidneys seems to be accidental. The rest of the wounds are far too deep and far too intentional to have been made by someone trying to conceal the initial death blow."

"How so?" Kate asked.

"This level of violence post mortem suggests a lot of rage. This guy wanted to make her suffer before he killed her, but she died too quickly for what he wanted. He wanted to inflict pain. He won't make this same mistake twice. He'll be back and he will escalate."

Rick had been strangely quiet during this exchange. Even Lanie noticed. Kate knew that by the look on his face and the movement of his eyes that his mind was working, that he was making connections, or at least trying to. She could practically feel the frustration rolling off of him in waves.

"Rick, what is it? I know that look." Kate asked him.

"Kate, I don't know. Something about the methodology, the weapon of choice feels familiar, but I just can't place it. I just have a feeling we're missing something."

The last time Rick had had a feeling like this, that the pieces just didn't fit, was back during their first run in with 3XK. She hadn't taken his instincts seriously enough about Tyson back then. She had been so focused on Marcus Gates and both him and Ryan had nearly paid the price for it. She wouldn't make that mistake this time. She had since then learned to trust his instincts more. To this day Tyson was still in the wind. Rick still felt a lot of guilt for that. He was committed to getting it right this time.

She would follow Rick's instincts wherever they went. She trusted him that much.

* * *

_*Author's note* Hang on tight, more gruesome case related stuff to come._


	5. Into Deeper Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note** This chapter contains graphic depictions of the aftermath of violent murder. I will block that section off with a double line so those of you whom are sensitive to such things can skip over it. I will not be watering these down as the terrible nature of the killings are part and parcel of the character of Jack the Ripper. I'll be doing my best to mark these as the crime scenes will be getting more and more gruesome as we go.

_"_ _In the pursuit of my..._ _holy cause_ _, I...did things, terrible things, unspeakable things._  
The world condemned me, but it didn't matter, because I believed that I was right and the world was wrong.  
I believed I was the divine messenger. I believed I was...chosen."

Sebastian (aka Jack the Ripper) Babylon 5 episode "Comes the Inquisitor" (1995)

* * *

_Previously_

_"I can't tell you who did this," Lanie said, with a slight tremble in her voice, "but he is not a professional, he's something much worse. The shot to her kidneys seems to be accidental. The rest of the wounds are far too deep and far too intentional to have been made by someone trying to conceal the initial death blow."_

_"How so?" Kate asked._

_"This level of violence post-mortem suggests a lot of rage. This guy wanted to make her suffer before he killed her, but she died too quickly for what he wanted. He wanted to inflict pain. He won't make this same mistake twice. He'll be back and he will escalate."_

_Rick had been strangely quiet during this exchange. Even Lanie noticed. Kate knew that by the look on his face and the movement of his eyes that his mind was working, that he was making connections, or at least trying to. She could practically feel the frustration rolling off of him in waves._

_"Rick, what is it?" Kate asked him. "I know that look."_

_"Kate, I don't know. Something about the methodology, the weapon of choice, feels familiar... but I can't place it. I just have a feeling we're missing something."_

_The last time Rick'd had a feeling like this, that that the pieces just didn't fit, was back during their first run in with 3XK. She hadn't taken his instincts seriously enough about Tyson back then. She had been so focused on Marcus Gates and both he and Ryan had nearly paid the price for it. She wouldn't make that mistake this time. She had, since then learned to place more trust in his instincts._

_To this day, Tyson was still in the wind. Rick still felt a lot of guilt for that. He was committed to getting it right this time._

_She would follow Rick's instincts wherever they went. She trusted him that much._

* * *

**September 8, 2014**

The morning that Rick had been dreading for days, which Lanie Parrish had foreshadowed like a portent of doom, had finally arrived.

The call had, at first, gone out to Ann Hastings who had started her first day on the active rotation as a Detective, but as soon as Lanie had seen the body, she had noted that this murder fell under Beckett's jurisdiction, so half an hour later Kate's cell phone rang and vibrated on her side of the bed.

Rick had been awake for nearly an hour by that time but didn't jump at the sudden noise. The parallels with his experience with Jerry Tyson, combined with his belief that this killer's signature felt... _familiar_ had robbed him of the ability to sleep well. He had been expecting this since they had left the morgue, but had hoped Kate would have been able to sleep just a few hours more. Sadly, his wish for Kate was not meant to be.

The press had been having a field day during the past week...a full-on media feeding frenzy. One enterprising tabloid reporter had done some digging into the history of the old Palermo Club and put enough of the pieces together to run a story on Kate and her mother, making connections that didn't exist between the two cases and speculating negatively on Kate's ability to work this one.

She'd hit the roof when that copy of the New York Ledger had come out. Rick, who had more experience with such things, had kept his head. He'd called Paula, who had managed to get them to print a retraction the next day, but the damage had been done. Captain Gates had gotten phone calls from the Police Commissioner, the Chief of Detectives and Mayor Weldon's office which necessitated a sit down with Kate again in her office. Questions were asked about her fitness to work this case...painful difficult questions that she could neither hide from nor ignore.

Gates had smoothed things over with the brass from 1PP, assuring all of them that Kate Beckett was the best detective for the job; that she had every confidence in Kate's ability to take point on this investigation, citing her impeccable closure rate with the department.

Between her own insecurities and her righteous indignation that her competency as a detective had been called into question, Kate had been driven nearly to tears by the time they'd gotten home that night. Anger had won out, and she was determined to prove them all wrong. Rick hadn't seen her this fired up over a case since they'd taken down Bracken.

After Kate had settled down and gone to bed, Rick had found himself on the phone, having one of the few heated conversations he could ever recall between himself and his old friend Bob Weldon. Though he understood the political position the press had put Bob in, _nobody_ talked down about his wife while _he_ had something to say about it. _Nobody_.

Not one of his oldest friends and most especially not that sniveling little creep of a Police Commissioner who'd tried to pimp Kate out to Eric Vaughn for a campaign contribution, then sought to keep her from getting her job back last year.

* * *

About half an hour later, Rick and Kate pulled up to the location of their crime scene, a construction site within sight of Ground Zero, in Kate's police issued Dodge Charger. Political and media concerns aside, the two of them had gotten a bad feeling about the gruesome nature of the scene when they saw Hastings sitting on the steps leading to the site with her head between her knees looking like she'd just been sick, and not with first trimester morning sickness either.

They walked into what, only twenty-four hours ago, had been a freight elevator but now more closely resembled a charnel house. Blood and viscera were pooled around nearly every flat surface, leading a grisly trail back to where their victim lay on three wooden pallets stacked in the center of the elevator car.

* * *

Her throat had been so deeply slit from ear to ear that bone was visible. Her minimal garments had been cut off and tossed aside, her left arm draped almost modestly across her breasts. She lay spread open, disemboweled for all the world to see, her blood had seeped between the slats to pool on the elevator floor below. Her legs were drawn up, feet resting on the floor, knees turned outwards. Her face turned to the right, pointed toward the doorway of the construction elevator.

Her sightless eyes stared out into nothing, as if crying out in supplication for mercy that hadn't come until death had mercifully claimed her.

* * *

It was a truly gruesome scene, one of the worst Kate had been to and she had seen her share, long before she had met Rick. She had always had an affinity for the freaky ones, (not even Espo understood why) so much so that the 12th now called them "Beckett flavored." But even she was having difficulty keeping her composure at the senseless brutality of this one.

At least three of the younger uniforms and one of the newer lab techs were making a point of not looking at the body too closely, busying themselves with any other crime scene duties they could get away with. Even Lanie, who had been nearly finished with her preliminary examination, seemed a little green around the gills.

Lanie stood up and nodded her assent to cover the remains and prep the body for transport before motioning Rick and Kate outside past Detective Hastings, whose husband Paul had come to take her home. In a show of compassion for the newly pregnant detective, Gates had given her the rest of the day.  
Rick watched the other "writer and his muse fighting crime" of the 12th Precinct walk slowly back to a waiting taxi cab, the beginnings of a wistful smile on his face, even in the midst of this terrible murder; hoping one day that might be himself and Kate. Ann and Paul always seemed to be just a step ahead them with these milestones.

A light poke in the arm from Kate brought him back to the moment.

"Stop imagining me pregnant!" Kate hissed, a hint of both annoyance on her face and mischief in her eyes. Though she would never admit it...she had been imagining the same thing too. Just like she had when the two of them had watched Hastings and her own writer kissing in the elevator two years ago. She had still been trying to come to terms with herself at the time, but she wished she'd had the courage to just jump in and kiss him then. The advice she'd given to Hastings had sounded hypocritical to her...even then. That night last year looking after Benny had reinforced her heart's longing to be a mom someday...with Rick, but now was not the time for such thoughts, her focus needed to be on the victim.

"What are we looking at, Lanie?" Kate asked.

"I know this case was originally assigned to Hastings, but once I started examining that girl in there and I knew it was your doer from last time."  
Lanie took off her sterile gloves and removed a bottle of hand sanitizer as she spoke.

"Absent the stab wound to the kidneys from last time, I was able to tentatively determine that the same size and type of weapon was used. Given the state of rigor I would put time of death between midnight and one-thirty this morning. I'll know more when I get the poor girl to the lab."

"Don't you usually use liver temp for that sort of thing?" Castle asked.

"I would," Lanie replied, "but her internal organs were exposed to open air, likely shortly after death, rendering her liver temp inconclusive. This is the best I can give you at the scene. If her prints are in the system I should have an identification for you by the end of the day."

With that, Lanie turned and left, following the black shrouded body as it was being wheeled out to the coroner's van. Lanie's control faltered for only a moment, her features revealing the horror they all felt, but little escaped Rick's notice. Their killer had struck again, he was becoming bolder and more violent. The bastard had walked into this construction site with a woman, tortured her to death, mutilated her corpse and then disappeared like he had never been there.

Unbeknownst to Rick, Kate or anyone else, he wasn't gone.

* * *

_He'd been waiting._

He had been watching with some interest since he'd returned to the construction site after he'd disposed of his black, blood soaked clothing. He had access to his workplace incinerator and it had made short work of the evidence. His job as a hospital morgue orderly after flunking out of medical school did hold certain advantages. Anything the police did find should he be caught would be so contaminated as to be useless.

His prized possession, his great-grandfather's knife, once more clean and bright...ready for the work to begin anew, was sheathed at his belt. He stroked it...almost feeling the power it gave him.

He had felt almost insulted when that other detective had shown up earlier. She was younger than Beckett, and pretty enough, but she wasn't the one he wanted to cross swords with. His frustration had turned to genuine amusement when she had run out and emptied her stomach moments later.

When Beckett and her husband had shown up half an hour later he'd felt invigorated. Yes, she was trying to catch him, but he respected that and her. He had done his homework on the two of them. She was a married woman...Watching them, he could see there was real love there, but he knew how men were...knew her marriage could be ruined by some stupid whore...Richard Castle's past and his reputation were an open book for all to see.

He would make Beckett see that before he was done...that he was doing this for her...for everyone.

The whores were a symptom of everything that was evil and immoral in the world...a parasitic pestilence that needed to be purged. They had to die...all of them.

He wasn't stupid. He knew he couldn't change the world single-handed. No matter how many he killed he knew that he alone could never kill them all, but the message needed to be sent. The true work would have to be done by somebody else.

He was only the messenger.


	6. Hide and Seek

**Chapter Six  
Hide and Seek**

* * *

_"In the strict scientific sense, Doctor, we all feed on death. Even vegetarians."_   
_\- Mr. Spock, as McCoy mentions that Redjac (Jack the Ripper) feeds on death_   
_Star Trek The Original Series, 1968_

* * *

_Previously_

_He had felt almost insulted when that other detective had shown up earlier. She was younger than Beckett, and pretty enough, but she wasn't the one he wanted to cross swords with. His frustration had turned to genuine amusement when she had run out and emptied her stomach moments later._

_When Beckett and her husband had shown up half an hour later he'd felt invigorated. Yes, she was trying to catch him, but he respected that and her. He had done his homework on the two of them. She was a married woman...Watching them, he could see there was real love there, but he knew how men were...knew her marriage could be ruined by some stupid whore...Richard Castle's past and his reputation were an open book for all to see._

_He would make Beckett see that before he was done...that he was doing this for her...for everyone._

_The whores were a symptom of everything that was evil and immoral in the world...a parasitic pestilence that needed to be purged. They had to die...all of them._

_He wasn't stupid. He knew he couldn't change the world single-handed. No matter how many he killed he knew that he alone could never kill them all, but the message needed to be sent. The true work would have to be done by others._

_He was only the messenger._

* * *

While digging in the records for murders in the last six months with a similar m.o. and victimology, Tory Ellis discovered an earlier potential victim. Martha Tabram, her death originally added to the ones tied to Kate's botched undercover sting operation and attributed to Elena Markov as their first official slasher victim had been, potentially, elevating the murders to serial killer status. It was an unsolved from during their honeymoon, but procedure demanded that it be be looked into.

The same reporter who had run the story on Beckett earlier managed to get hold of this story and ran with it, citing an _"unnamed source involved in the investigation,"_ with enough references to make it sound like someone on their team had leaked it to the press.

The mainstream media took it and ran with it.

Captain Gates was on a rampage on the homicide floor for the next two days, vowing to uncover the leak and make their lives a living hell. Though she at first suspected Castle, given his media savvy reputation, she soon dismissed that, on Kate's vehement assurance that he would _never_ stab her in the back that way.

* * *

The Mayor had just recently been clued in about the sexual harassment complaint against the Commissioner that Kate had filed shortly before she had left for the job in DC. When one of Mayor Weldon's staffers had uncovered it shortly after his _very_ uncomfortable phone conversation with Richard Castle, the man had hit the roof. He'd told the Police Commissioner that if he wanted to keep his job, not to mention his reputation, he had better get with the program and throw the department's full weight behind Beckett's investigation. The office staffers hadn't seen him so fired up since the scandal that cost him his bid for governor a few years back.

The NYPD's Vice Division had had bodies in the Washington Heights area since before the most recent body dropped, but due to the increased media scrutiny, and the Mayor breathing down the Commissioner's neck, every Vice cop not working an open investigation (and some that were) was on the streets either conducting sweeps of the known prostitutes in the area or dressed as hookers looking to draw the killer out or get the regular street workers to be chatty.

Secretly the Commissioner hoped a vice cop would get lucky, nab the guy and get the collar so he could claim the win and put Beckett in her place. He'd personally buy whomever did it a case of whatever he or she was drinking if that happened.

* * *

One cop in particular was dressed in full street hooker regalia: Detective Ann Hastings.

She'd been mortified at having thrown up at a crime scene (morning sickness or no)...at her first crime scene as a detective no less. She knew it wasn't why she'd had to turn the scene over to Detective Beckett. It wasn't personal, of that she was certain. She would have had to turn it over to her anyway, but her pride had been wounded. Being sent home for the day like she was a sick child who'd thrown up in a primary school hallway had just made matters worse.

The crass jokes and hazing had started the very next day. She had returned to the precinct to find an air sickness bag on her desk and a bottle of Pepto Bismol in her locker. Things had quickly degenerated from there. Normally she would have expected it. She'd been in the army, one of a very small number of women to make it through Special Forces training. It came with the territory as "one of the guys." Normally, she found it amusing to be treated like everyone else.

This time however, she had not been amused, and courtesy of the pregnancy hormones she had not taken it in stride like she normally would have - nor had she been quiet about her displeasure. She went ballistic, swearing angrily and loudly every curse word in every language she knew in the middle of the bullpen. Captain Gates had been forced to step in, making it clear - _loudly_ \- that tormenting a pregnant woman would not be tolerated in her precinct, unintentionally ratcheting up Ann's mortification.

Hastings had stormed out of the squad room to cool down, at Gates' request, and turned up in Vice within the hour to volunteer for decoy duty. She had played up her Special Forces training and her knowledge of the seedier side of the streets. (carefully omitting her stint as "Lone Vengeance" of course)

* * *

The Vice Squad watch commander had been hesitant to put a pregnant woman in harm's way, but they had been ordered by the Commissioner and the chief of Detectives to make use of every resource. After he had contacted her Captain, he told her she could suit up for the next sweep and made arrangements for a few extra bodies on her protective detail. He wasn't about to repeat the mistake his predecessor had made with Detective Beckett. He wanted his i's dotted and his t's crossed before letting her out on the streets.

Pregnancy hormones or not, Hastings also had heard about what happened to Beckett the last time she had gone undercover. How Fowler and Gates had told her not to tell her fiancé, to keep it secret. She'd been there that evening after Beckett had been taken, when Rick had burst into the precinct and demanded to know where Beckett was. It was the only time she, or anyone else, had ever heard Castle raise his voice to "Iron Gates." Hell, half the precinct had heard him through the Captain's door.

Ryan and Esposito had cringed every time they heard Castle yell, nobody at the 12th had ever seen the writer so angry. When he stormed out of her office neither of them could look him in the eye. It had caused tension in the Homicide squad for days, especially after the Chief of D's had laid into Gates the following morning after Beckett's rescue. Ann was determined not to make the same mistake with Paul and had made sure to talk to him about it when she had gotten home.

She and Paul had had a major fight about it, in spite of her repeated assurances that she would be perfectly safe and that she wasn't out there to search for the killer, herself. She had had to promise on her father's grave not to go all "Lone Vengeance" and go rogue, that they would have a full detail on her and she was just an extra set of eyes on the street.

Paul still hadn't liked it - he still had his police scanner and had known about Beckett's kidnapping - but she hoped he understood that she couldn't just sit on the sidelines and watch. Her own partner would be out there with her - Sully was a slob, but he was a good cop and he would have her back. She was with people she trusted, unlike the position Beckett had been in. He still didn't like it, but he relented with the admonition that she be extra careful.

* * *

11:45 PM

He was not amused.

The police were sending decoys out to try to trick him.

As if he was stupid. As if he had not been walking these same streets for years, plotting and planning his every move, like his father and grandfather had before him. He _knew_ who all the whores were, knew what they ate, where they did their business, what clients they preferred, where they took their "johns" to ply their illicit trade. He had done his homework long before he'd first struck.

As if he didn't know the difference between the vice cops "playing whore" and his own prey. They stood out for _anyone_ with a lick of sense or reasonable observation skills. Anyone they actually fooled deserved to be caught. He wasn't the fool they thought he was if they believed he would _not_ recognize the detective who had shown up at his last kill, now dressed as a whore.

He would not be hunting tonight. A message of a different kind needed to be sent, instead. This was not a game to him, and it was time that Detective Beckett and her superiors learned that he would _not_ be trifled with.

Playing with him would come with a price.

* * *

2:25 AM

It had become clear that that night's sweep was not going to bear fruit and nothing further would be learned from the pimps and street prostitutes of Washington Heights. The watch commander, satisfied that nothing more would be gained by keeping extra bodies on the streets, ordered the operation closed for the night. They would attack it with fresh eyes in the morning.

As the all clear sounded and every vice cop on the streets reported in, one officer's mic was strangely silent. Detective Third class Ann Hastings had failed to report in since her last scheduled 'all clear'. It was as if the night had simply swallowed her up. She had radioed in to go to the bathroom and then nothing.

All attempts to reach her were met with static.

* * *

_**Author's Note** Sorry for the brevity of this chapter...plot bunnies for another story got in the way and I'm trying to lever myself back into this story now. (I misplaced my notes for how I wanted the next chapter to go as far as the Homicide part of the investigation would go... hopefully I can find or recreate them soon)_

_Side note: I borrowed a bit from "Failing A character Study" by AngelicDragons...it's an interesting read. Feel free to check it out. s/10275774/1/Failing-a-Character-Study_

_Hope the cliffy here doesn't keep you up late._

_Mark_


	7. The Messenger Speaks

**Chapter Seven  
The Messenger Speaks**

* * *

" _Sundown, you better take care_  
If I find you been creeping 'round my back stairs  
Sundown, you better take care  
If I find you been creeping 'round my back stairs"

_Gordon Lightfoot "Sundown"_

* * *

_Previously_

_It had become clear that the night's sweep was not going to bear fruit and nothing further would be learned from the pimps and street prostitutes of Washington Heights. The watch commander, satisfied that nothing more would be gained by keeping extra bodies on the streets, ordered the operation closed for the night. They would attack it with fresh eyes in the morning._

_As the all clear sounded and every vice cop on the streets reported in, one officer's mic was strangely silent. Detective Third class Ann Hastings had failed to report in since her last scheduled 'all clear'. It was as if the night had simply swallowed her up. She had radioed in to go to the bathroom and then nothing._

_All attempts to reach her were met with static._

* * *

Ann Hastings woke up in the dark.

Her second sensation was that of a scarf wound around her eyes. She felt groggy and her head throbbed, like the worst hangover she had ever experienced. The hangover from the three-day bender after she'd come home from Afghanistan, and the one after her dad's funeral both paled in comparison with the pain in the back of her head.

She knew she was on a bed, but when she tried to move to confirm this, she found that her wrists were securely bound. As the remainder of her senses began to check in a plethora of sensations began to make themselves known, the first of these was that she was naked under the blanket thrown over her. Not that she had been wearing all that much to begin with... just enough to cover the slight baby bump on her abdomen where once only lean muscle resided.

The place practically reeked of antiseptic and sanitizer...like it had been cleaned extensively before her arrival and there were no noises she could detect, nothing to tell her where she was, how long she had been here or who had taken her. One moment she was in the hotel bathroom feeling dizzy and nauseous and the next she was here.

The sheets smelled freshly laundered and the mattress was firm but not terribly so, as if care had been taken to make her comfortable. (other than the fact she was securely bound in place)

Suddenly the thought hit her: the observation about feeling hung over.

"Oh, God..." she whispered quietly to herself, "my baby..." a tear crept down her cheek at the thought, the first twinges of real fear began to creep up her spine before she saw light around the periphery of her blindfold.

"You can yell and shout all you want, nobody will hear you."

The voice of her captor was so heavily modified that she couldn't tell if the speaker was male, female or even human. No sense of inflection was apparent, nor sign of any emotion. Nothing she could use to get a handle on the person behind the voice. Ellis, she knew, could tear the modulation apart and find the true voice behind it in about an hour on a recording, but she doubted that was ever going to happen.

"I'm a cop...badge number 56324...out of the12th Precinct," Hastings said, throwing as much authority behind her voice as she could under the circumstances. "half the city is out looking for me."

"I know who you are, detective. They won't find you until I want them to...just like the others," the voice replied.

 _'Oh fuck...it's him,'_ the voice in Hastings' head told her, the voice that had kept her alive during two tours in Afghanistan. The voice she was struggling to listen to now, not the haze in her mind caused by the pregnancy hormones.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked quietly, trying to inject a calm into her voice she most certainly didn't feel.

Hastings knew she was in no position to attempt escape, so she fell back on her military training, hoping to gather as much intel as she could, in case she got out of this in one piece. -Beckett would need any information she could provide to get this guy- but also realized that she would have to probe very carefully to avoid provoking him.

"My apologies for the inconvenience, detective," the voice said, "had I known you were pregnant I would have chosen somebody else, but a new message needs to be sent. _You_ are that message."

Hastings felt a prick to her neck, her last thought a whispered apology to her unborn baby before everything went black again.

* * *

4:35 PM

Within half an hour after she was declared missing, every officer and detective on the island of Manhattan had been mobilized, including the canine unit, in the search for Ann Hastings. The search had gone on for most of the morning and well into that afternoon. To say that Victoria Gates was beside herself would be a gross understatement. She was furious. She stalked the corridors of the 12th Precinct like a woman possessed and spared no amount of vitriol for the new Captain of a now reorganized Narcotics/Vice unit.

"This is the _second_ time I have placed one of my detectives into your division's care for a sting operation and the _second_ time you have managed to lose them!" she raged on the phone, not letting the man get in a word edgewise,

"Are you guys _incompetent_ when it comes to security over there? I don't care what you have to do, you just find her!"

After slamming her phone on the cradle, Gates looked up at Hastings' partner, Detective Grant Sullivan, who looked like he hadn't slept or eaten since his partner had gone missing. He looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

"This wasn't your fault, _Detective_ Sullivan." Gates looked over her nose at the man who completely withered under her scrutiny as if he desired to collapse in on himself and disappear. "You were both on a break and there was _supposed_ to be a detail on her, just like when Beckett went missing. You couldn't be there _every_ minute."

"She told me over the radio she had to use the bathroom." Sully breathed, his eyes filled with guilt, "I wasn't sure whether it was to pee or throw up...when we got the ' _all clear'_ I didn't think anything of it...until she didn't respond. I thought she might have fainted...or her mic had gone dead...when I finally kicked in the door to the hotel bathroom... she was gone."

Gates softened a little as she saw that his remorse was genuine. He had been out all night with Hastings. After she had turned up missing he had run himself into the ground searching for his partner. He was dead on his feet, the morning shift watch commander had finally had to order him sent home, but instead had come straight here looking for either absolution or punishment, she wasn't certain which.

He had insisted on telling Paul Whitaker himself that his wife was missing, and had the black eye to prove it. Paul had only struck him once, and had apologized profusely after, but from what she'd heard, Sully had just taken the punch without so much as ducking or blocking it, as if he had expected it. He had refused to press charges.

" _Go home_ Detective Sullivan," Gates said softly. "You can't help anybody if you can barely stand."

"But what about...?" Sullivan began, but Gates cut him off,

"Rest assured, Grant, there are _no cases_ in this precinct today, and there won't be until she is found, one way or the other."

Gates looked up at the doorway of her office and nodded to L.T. and Velasquez who were also on their way home to catch a breather before returning to the search.

"Make sure he goes home, or at least someplace to get some rest," Gates ordered. "I don't want to see him for at least six hours."

* * *

2:30 AM

Almost precisely twenty four hours after Detective Hastings had disappeared, Grant Sullivan received a text message from her cell phone alerting him that she could be found in one of the seedier motels in Washington Heights. When ESU cleared the lobby and breached the place fifteen minutes later, (with Sullivan close on their heels) she was found alive but unconscious, laid out naked on the bed - in exactly the same position the last victim had been, the wound pattern from the previous killing drawn out in grease pencil on the skin of her abdomen, chest and lower regions.

Sullivan thought he was going to be sick, but he managed to hold it together as they cut her bindings and the ESU paramedics slid her onto the gurney to take her to the bus waiting downstairs. He gripped her hand and didn't release it as they fast-walked the gurney to the elevator, his other hand holding his cell phone to his ear as he called her husband.

Hastings woke up in a panic as they lifted her gurney up into the ambulance. She thrashed and twisted in the restraints until Sully took her hand again.

"Hastings... shh ...Ann... it's ok...you're safe...I've got you." he whispered into her ear.

The soothing words in her ear from the only man she trusted as much as Paul gradually seemed to get through to her and she began to settle down before she finally opened her eyes. The man she saw holding her hand was not the happy-go-lucky Grant Sullivan she knew...the partner that made her laugh at his antics and made her roll her eyes at his messy desk. Though the relief on his features was palpable, he seemed hollowed out and broken in ways she could only imagine.

The words her captor had spoken were still echoing in her mind like a bad dream.

" _...had I known you were pregnant I would have chosen somebody else..."_

The bastard had known she was pregnant. He had obviously undressed her and must have done at least a basic physical exam. Her baby bump, though easily concealed would have been noticeable upon close inspection...but she didn't remember...

"Is my baby okay?" she whispered, fear still tugging at her mind, filling her mind with real and imagined terrors only a woman would understand, "Sully...did something happen to my baby? Where's Paul?"

"I called him just after ESU breached the hotel...and I knew you were safe..." Sully replied as gently as he could manage, "I told him to meet us at the hospital...Gates insisted you get checked out...she wanted to protect the scene."

"God... Sully... did he - did he...?" Her mind suddenly turning from one worst case scenario to another... the panic in her mind leaving her unable to focus and she couldn't choke out words.

"I don't think so... from what we were told... _that..._ doesn't seem to be his style," Sully replied, his voice suddenly devoid of any emotion... his eyes filling with a rage he was barely keeping in check, "but I can have them do a - " He couldn't force the word "rape" past his lips, " - a... kit if you want... I can make the arrangements quietly..."

Hastings nodded. She wasn't sure she liked this hurt, broken, hollowed-out version of her partner. The pain and anger in his eyes _almost_ drew her attention from the bruising around his right eye.

Almost, but not quite.

"Where did you get the shiner, Sully?"

* * *

With Detective Hastings safely ensconced in a hospital room for observation with two uniformed guards at her door, the cops of the Vice division hit the streets in force. An undercover cop had been kidnapped under their very noses and _"nobody had seen anything" -_ only now, the NYPD wasn't taking _no_ for an answer.

There were uniformed cops, with body armor on full display their patrol cars lit up on every corner shutting down all illicit trade. They weren't even trying to make arrests, simply scaring off anyone who would make use of such trade. If the traffic in illegal goods or services moved to another corner, the police followed them there.

Word was soon out on the street - and the message was crystal clear - that there would be no peace and no money to be made until _somebody_ came forward.

It was only a matter of time.

* * *

_**Author's note** In case any of you are wondering, (and at least one anon reviewer commented on the subject) I never had any intention of having Hastings...or her baby...come to harm, merely scare the bejesus out of her and provide the clue that out antagonist has medical knowledge. Next chapter will explain why Jack has played it this way._

_I borrowed the behavior of the NYPD from two sources. The TV Series Cold Case, where the drectives on the show sat on a sreeet corner making it clear they were cops (calling the maneuver "no drugs today") to get the street hookers to talk to them. The other was from Third Watch after an EMT was killed and the cops on the show said there "would be no peace" for anyone who shelters the man who shot him._


	8. Message Received

**Chapter Eight  
Message Received**

* * *

" _I've given my life to become what I am_  
To preach the new beginning  
To make you understand  
To reach some point of order  
Utopia in mind, you've got to learn  
To sacrifice, to leave what's now behind

Speak to me  
 _the pain you feel  
_

 _Speak the word_  
The word is all of us  
Speak the word  
The word is all of us"

Queensryche "Speak" From the album "Operation: Mindcrime"

* * *

_Previously_

_"God... Sully... did he - did he...?" Her mind suddenly turning from one worst case scenario to another... the panic in her mind leaving her unable to focus and she couldn't choke out words._

_"I don't think so... from what we were told..._ __that..._ _ _doesn't seem to be his style," Sully replied, his voice suddenly devoid of any emotion... his eyes filling with a rage he was barely keeping in check, "but I can have them do a - " He couldn't force the word "rape" past his lips, " - a... kit if you want... I can make the arrangements quietly..."_

 _Hastings nodded. She wasn't sure she liked this hurt, broken, hollowed-out version of her partner. The pain and anger in his eyes_ __almost_ _ _drew her attention from the bruising around his right eye._

_Almost, but not quite._

_"Where did you get the shiner, Sully?"_

* * *

Ann Hastings' question had gone unanswered.

Sully had fallen silent and seemed intent on not talking about how he came by the black eye. He was still a mass of contradictions from the Grant Sullivan she knew, the man she had come to trust with her life after the past couple months.

When they had first been paired up, they had been assigned to Robbery Division under Detective Demming before Beckett and Castle had gone on their honeymoon. There hadn't been many active cases during that period but she had been glad to be out of there. (She'd wanted Homicide every bit as much as Beckett had) If she had caught Demming staring at her ass, or making comments about how well her clothes fit one more time she was going to have to beat the snot out of him. The NYPD rather frowned on that sort of thing. The wedding band on her finger hadn't seemed to register.

Sully had been a godsend during that period. Obviously his parents had raised him right, even if they had been somewhat remiss when it came to teaching him general housekeeping. She could remember hearing muffled, angry voices behind the door to that floor's break-room. Nothing physical, but she had heard her name mentioned, she'd heard the word "kick," she'd heard the word "ass," and something about the middle of next week.

Not a single word had been spoken about it afterward by him, Demming or anyone else in the squad room, but for the rest of their tenure in Robbery, Tom Demming had kept his eyes and his comments to himself. She remembered being more than a bit miffed about it - she was a big girl and could fight her own battles after all - but deep inside she'd found Sully's behind-the-scenes defense of her honor strangely... sweet as well. Something an older brother would do if she'd had any.

She had a feeling his current state of melancholy may be related to that instinct to want to protect his partner, and a having - in his mind anyway - failed to do so.

* * *

Hastings lay on the bed while being looked over by the female lab tech who was taking the necessary samples for the rape kit and then moved on to photograph and document the grease pencil drawn on her skin. She tried not to take it personally, but she felt simultaneously like a piece of meat and an exhibit at a freak show. She knew Sully and Paul were on the other side of the curtain and that she was perfectly safe, but she just wanted this to be over.

She had gotten a quick exam when she arrived, but was told there didn't seem to be any complications. Blood was drawn and they were waiting on the drug panel. She was doing her best not to freak out, but she knew she had been drugged...twice...and was worried about what the side effects would be for her baby.

The ER attending had wanted to do an ultrasound right away, but as much as it tugged at her heart to do it immediately she insisted that the rape kit and evidence documentation be done first. If _anything_ happened to her baby...She wanted to make sure Beckett had everything she needed to nail the bastard to the wall for her.

The lab tech finished her examination and did her best to sound reassuring.

"Detective...the good news is...I did not detect any signs of tearing or bruising that would indicate either vaginal or rectal penetration, nor did I detect the presence of semen in the vaginal swabs." The young woman told her.

Hastings breathed a small sigh of relief. He may have drugged her, but at least he hadn't raped her...it took some of the edge off of her anxiety, but not all of it.

No mention had been made of the grease pencil drawn on her body...especially in the places Hastings had only ever wanted her husband or her gynecologist to see and she was careful _not_ to ask. She just wanted this examination to be over.

She may not have been raped...but she still felt _violated_...and ashamed. She had been dizzy and nauseous in that bathroom and had not so much as laid eyes on her attacker. She had been taken without a fight, and didn't even have his DNA under her fingernails. Not too long ago he would have never gotten the drop on her and she would have taken the bastard apart. She was _Lone freaking Vengeance_ for crying out loud. The soldier in her felt great shame over that. She would have felt better about it if she had at least been able to get a piece of him.

She thanked the woman and then covered herself up both with the hospital gown and the blankets before she would allow the curtain to be drawn back to reveal the two most important men in her life.

The awkwardness between the two of them was palpable even in her agitated state. She had noted it from the very moment Paul had met them in the ambulance bay. She only had about twenty minutes before her OB/GYN would be here to do the ultrasound and she meant to get to the bottom of it.

"Okay, you two...out with it!" Hastings demanded, giving vent to her frustration.

Both of them fidgeted...neither of them able to look her, or each other, in the eye as they stuttered and stammered but couldn't seem to decide on a reply.

"What is up with you two?" She asked, her tone demanding an answer. "What happened to your eye, Sully?" She was in no mood for games this morning.

She heard Paul say something quickly under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "I-hit-him" his eyes locked on the floor between the two men and her hospital bed.

"You did _what_?" she nearly shrieked, almost apoplectic with rage at her husband.

Paul's gaze was still leveled on the floor, shame completely evident on his face when he finally found his voice.

"When I showed up to pick you up after I heard the "allclear" on my scanner, Sully told me you were missing...I...I just lost it...and I hit him."

Hastings was so angry she could not even find words. Her eyes were practically on fire with pent up rage, her fists balled at her sides. It took every ounce of self control she had not to yank out her saline IV, get out of the bed and slap her husband in the face. Had he been _any other_ man she would have done it. She'd have beaten him to within an inch of his life for _daring_ to lay a hand on her partner.

"When he went down," Paul continued, noting his wife's righteous anger, "I realized what I'd done...I told him I was sorry... but he just... got back up.. like he expected me to hit him again... like he wanted me to..."

"I had it coming," Sully interjected quietly. "I didn't have your back, Ann...I broke the faith and I had it coming. I deserved so much worse...I'm sorry Ann...I'm so sorry."

Paul moved to take her hand, but she jerked it away as she burst into tears, grabbing a handful of his shirt instead.

"Paul Whitaker... I love you more than my life," she whispered into his ear, "but so help me _GOD_...if you _ever_ hit him again, babe...we're _done_ , you understand me?"

She barely noted the quick nod of Paul's head, before she released him and turned her attention to her partner who still looked empty and hollowed out. She extended her hand beckoning him closer until his hand was firmly clasped in hers and she made him look her in the eye.

"Sully, this was _not_ your fault, okay? I was supposed to take Hendricks into the bathroom with me...they put a uniformed woman on my detail for a reason...but I just wanted to do my business in private. I was too caught up in my pride to see that the hormones had thrown off my situational awareness."

"But..." Sully began, and Hastings cut him off with a look. Her eyes still glistened with tears.

"But _nothing_ , Sully," she snapped, "we were supposed to be out there to find leads, get the working girls to talk to us. _Nobody_ expected our doer to show up looking to kidnap a cop - least of all me. Get this into your head and let it set there real good, partner: This was - _NOT_ \- your - fault. You understand?"

Sully gave a sullen nod, but the dull look was still in his eyes. Hastings knew it would take him a while to see past the guilt he was feeling. She had lost people before, both at home and in combat. It would just take time.

"Now go home, Sully and get some sleep," Hastings said more evenly, summoning a smile for him, "my _husband_ and I need some alone time before the ultrasound guy gets here so he can apologize to me _properly_ for manhandling my partner while I was gone."

Sully offered her a small smile of his own before muttering his farewells and heading for the door.

"Sully," Hastings said in a quieter voice, stopping him in his tracks to turn and face her, "thanks...for staying with me..."

He said the one thing he could think of before he stepped out the door, something he'd heard Castle say to Detective Beckett once or twice, albeit in a _completely_ different context... but it seemed appropriate.

" _Always_."

* * *

Twenty-five minutes later, with her hand firmly gripping that of her husband, Ann Hastings was sobbing with uncontrollable relief and joy at the sound of her unborn child's strong heartbeat over the monitor of the ultrasound machine. It was only the second time she'd ever heard it, but it was a balm to her soul, and music to her ears. The drug screen and amnio that had been taken would later come back clean as well.

* * *

Sebastian noted the information on Ann Hastings' chart with some satisfaction. He didn't see himself as a monster. His great grandfather's blade was only for the wicked.

No one would ever know that he had _deliberately_ chosen a pregnancy-safe sedative to put her down the second time and he was not talking. He had made sure to be on-shift by the time she was brought in so he could keep tabs on her condition while nobody was looking. The guards at the door only paid him cursory attention, so long as he didn't attempt to go inside. He was an orderly at this hospital, he was supposed to be here, but he was no fool. He merely wanted to check on his handiwork.

"Message received," He noted to himself as he walked away chuckling, humming a tune as he continued his duties on the charge floor.

His note would reach Detective Beckett in the morning. He'd dropped it in the mailbox before he'd taken the lady cop.

Soon, fear would have a familiar name.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Author's Note* I know are some people who will likely take issue with the fact that Castle and Beckett barely got a mention in this chapter, but I felt it was important to have some resolution for Detective Hastings and her immediate circle. I did kinda put them through hell. I also kinda felt that my antagonist was not quite creepy enough. I think I have managed to do both.
> 
> Enjoy


	9. Words and Silence

**Chapter Nine  
Words and Silence**

* * *

_"People always turn away from the eyes of a stranger  
Afraid to know what lies behind the stare..."_

_Queensryche: Eyes of a Stranger (from the album Operation: Mindcrime)_

* * *

_Previously_

_Sebastian noted the information on Ann Hastings' chart with some satisfaction. He didn't see himself as a monster. His great grandfather's blade was only for the wicked._

_No one would ever know that he had_ _deliberately_ _chosen a pregnancy-safe sedative to put her down the second time and he was not talking. He had made sure to be on-shift by the time she was brought in so he could keep tabs on her condition while nobody was looking. The guards at the door only paid him cursory attention, so long as he didn't attempt to go inside. He was an orderly at this hospital, he was supposed to be here, but he was no fool. He merely wanted to check on his handiwork._

_"Message received," He noted to himself as he walked away chuckling, humming a tune as he continued his duties on the charge floor._

_His note would reach Detective Beckett in the morning. He'd dropped it in the mailbox before he'd taken the lady cop._

_Soon, fear would have a familiar name._

* * *

**September 10th 2014**   
**6:00 PM**   
**Castle Loft**

Kate walked into the loft after a day spent picking up the pieces of Vice division's surveillance debacle. She had taken Detective Hastings' statement and took possession of the images taken by the young lab tech who had remarked at how well she was holding up under the circumstances. The young woman had remarked that in Ann's place she _"would have probably freaked a hell of a lot more."_

Not for the first time Kate had realized just how alike she and Hastings were. The younger cop had left nothing out of her statement, but in truth really had little to offer. The man had used every possible trick to conceal his identity, not to mention the location where he'd held her for an entire day.

That he had been able to ascertain that Hastings was pregnant was both troubling to Kate and a tantalizing clue. He had been almost clinical in his treatment of Hastings. Combined with the way he had cut up the last victim implied, at least, a certain amount of medical knowledge. He was obviously quick and brutally efficient. This was not your average serial killer.

After removing her blazer and hanging it up in the hall closet, she slid her sidearm and badge in their accustomed places in the jewelry box her father had made as a wedding present. (virtually identical in every way to the one that had been destroyed by Scott Dunn's firebomb). Kate finally toed out of her four-inch heels and moaned slightly as first one, then the other of her socked feet touched the carpet.

She could hear Rick typing away in his office and decided not to disturb him. His writing binges had not come as often as they used to since the crash and she knew that -to him- working things out through Nikki and Rook was therapeutic. Kate had often wondered how many of Rick's best-sellers had been self-therapy, slaying some demon from his own life.

Oddly enough it had been _his_ idea for her to interview Hastings alone, though he had rightly deduced that Hastings was likely more comfortable opening up to her one-on-one. He had tried to make the excuse of a writing deadline, but there was something else behind his desire to be elsewhere. Kate didn't need to be a mind-reader to deduce that this operation-gone-wrong far too closely resembled the ill-fated one _she_ had gone on this past spring. Rick hadn't wanted to admit that sitting in the waiting room with Paul Whitaker during the interview with Hastings would have been just too much for him to handle.

There was a time when _she_ would have volunteered for such an assignment without so much as a backward look, and only the promises she had made to Rick had held her back this time.

Kate lowered her head, still feeling a small amount of shame for having lied to him about that. She had very nearly been killed and the last words she had spoken to him at the time had been both a lie and a promise she hadn't kept. When he had called her on that lie not long after, she'd had no real defense. She knew she had looked him in the eye and lied to his face a few times too often in their relationship, not even counting before they got together. It was something she was determined to work on.

She had been even more ashamed when Hastings related that she _had_ spoken to her husband about it beforehand. That Hastings had kept her husband, not to mention her partner, in-the-loop about her decision. She hadn't asked for permission, but had, at least, included them in the discussion and heard them out - pregnancy hormones notwithstanding.

Kate had been under orders to the contrary back then, but that had seemed like a flimsy excuse to her now, given how things had turned out. She had shared things with Rick long before then that could have gotten her sent to federal prison for _treason_ , an undercover buy should have been a drop in the bucket. Her -not to mention Rick's- relationship with Gates was a bit...strained to this day. Gates was still trying to make up that lost ground with him. Kate had never before realized just how much Rick's opinion of her had mattered to her captain.

Kate decided to let him work, she wasn't nearly as needy of his constant attention as she had been before the DC job offer had come along. Rick was writing, the sound of his fingers tapping the keys of his laptop was music to her ears. With the exception of lovemaking it was the one time he didn't wear the gloves. She was thankful his hands had not suffered permanent nerve damage.

Kate padded away from the door to his office and toward the breakfast nook where the mail had been stacked, Rick's, hers, Alexis' and Martha's. She sat on one of the high stools, flicked out the folding knife she carried (Rick still thought it was really cool) and slit open the purple envelope that looked like it should have contained a card. She'd thought nothing of it until she opened the letter.

* * *

_Dear Detective Beckett._

_Did you really think it would be that easy? That I did_ not _know the difference between undercover police officers and my intended prey? I have returned_ this _one. The next one will not be so fortunate._

_I have no desire to harm the innocent, but I will if you continue to interfere._

_Do not do this again, or I will send the next one back to you in small pieces._

_For the record, the details on them make the decoys far too easy to spot, not to mention they never get into cars. Your Vice division may need to work on their trade-craft. I spotted them within five minutes._

_Jack_

* * *

A photo slipped out of the envelope onto the counter, a photo of Hastings' naked body with the cut marks denoting where his knife could have gone if he had wanted to kill her.

" ** _CASTLE!_** " she cried out, her voice somewhere between shock and panic.

When he'd come stumbling out of the office, confusion - and no small amount of terror - on his face, she was back in _"Detective Beckett"_ mode.

"My purse... gloves and evidence bags... right now!" she commanded, something she rarely did at home, but which instantly galvanized him into action, as he brought her the requested items, knowing instinctively what pocket of her over-sized purse she exclusively kept them in. He stopped only to tug on a pair of the blue nitrile gloves himself.

She carefully slid the note, the photograph and the envelope into separate bags, sealing the red tape on each with a notation that they had been touched by her with uncovered hands. She handed the three bags to Rick while she made the phone call for ESU to pick them up.

A lab tech showed up at the door within twenty minutes, signed the chain of custody documentation and was back out the door. Given the high priority on the case she would likely have any prints on them back by morning.

It was then that it finally hit her.

"This guy knows where we live, Castle!" she sobbed, her mind spinning out at the danger her family was in as she nearly collapsed into Rick's arms. She was in no condition to go back to the precinct. He knew it wasn't herself she was afraid for. His wife was a warrior woman, nearly fearless when it came to her job, almost to the point of being careless with her own safety. It was the rest of them she was afraid for, especially Martha and Alexis.

Rick pulled her into his arms and sat with her on his lap on the couch, soothing her with soft glove-clad hands, stroking her hair and rubbing her back as she quietly freaked out. He would be making extra security arrangements for Alexis and his mother in the morning before he allowed any of them out of the house.

For now he did the only thing he could do: he just held her.

* * *

It hadn't taken long for the major underworld bosses to crack. The near constant police presence in Washington Heights was seriously cutting into profits, both in prostitution and narcotics. They had come to a consensus.

Word was soon put out on the street that anyone who'd seen or had knowledge of the guy stalking the streets had a limited amnesty to speak to the cops about it.

Distrust of the NYPD was and always would be trumped by the bottom line. It didn't take long before word got around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's note** It feels weird to bring this up given this story's subject matter but on July 26 th 2014, my niece Kirsten gave birth to a baby girl, Adelyn Noelle Ostrander, 6 pounds 10 ounces. Welcome to the world little one.


	10. The Professor

**Chapter Ten  
The Professor**

* * *

_"I must not fear._  
 _Fear is the mind-killer._  
 _Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration._  
 _I will face my fear._  
 _I will permit it to pass over me and through me._  
 _And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path._  
 _Where the fear has gone there will be nothing._  
 _Only I will remain."_

Bene Gesserit litany against fear

Frank Herbert's Dune

* * *

_Previously_

_It hadn't taken long for the major underworld bosses to crack. The near constant police presence in Washington Heights was seriously cutting into profits, both in prostitution and narcotics. They had come to a consensus._

_Word was soon put out on the street that anyone who'd seen or had knowledge of the guy stalking the streets had a limited amnesty to speak to the cops about it._

_Distrust of the NYPD was and always would be trumped by the bottom line. It didn't take long before word got around._

* * *

**September 11, 2014**

Ann Hastings stepped off the elevator and onto the 12th Precinct Homicide floor to a round of applause. She and her unborn child had been given a clean bill of health and been allowed to check out of the hospital that morning with the admonition that field work was out of the question. The doctor had made it perfectly clear that her pregnancy had been elevated to at-risk status.

She had stopped at home to change into more suitable work attire, and - much to her husband's chagrin- had decided to report for duty at the precinct. She noted more than a few sheepishly hung shoulders, likely belonging to the once merry band of pranksters who had hazed her for throwing up at the crime scene earlier that week.

They seemed chastened now - something she felt a little bad about. She hadn't been able to sit down yet, due to the fact that the chair was missing from behind her desk. At first she thought it was the opening gambit to another prank, but nobody said a word about it.

After the hubbub had died down a little, Captain Gates stepped out of her office, wheeling a comfortable looking ergonomic chair which was slid to Hastings' desk and indicating for her to have a seat. It was every bit as comfortable as it looked.

"Detective Hastings," Gates began, sounding almost regal, "the entire precinct chipped in towards this new chair for you...including Mr. Castle, who made a very generous donation and even covered the cost of overnight shipping."

Hastings blushed as she looked over at Castle and Beckett leaning against Beckett's desk.

Gates continued speaking, her voice taking on a slightly more commanding edge, the smile not leaving her face.

"Make yourself comfortable in your new chair, Detective, because you will be spending a _lot_ of time there. The Chief of Detectives has ordered me to restrict you to desk duty until this _Jack_ is caught. There will also be a detail on you and your husband until then."

The smile slowly disappeared from Hastings' face. She knew that Gates had always been suspicious about her cowboy tendencies since her _Lone Vengeance_ days came to an end. It was why she'd had such a hard time getting into Homicide.

Gates had told her on her on her first day in the squad room _"I already have one rogue detective and her sidekick in my house and I don't have room for another."_

The last few days, Hastings realized, she had not only confirmed Captain Gates' suspicions, but she could have been killed in the process. Hastings settled behind her desk and slipped her holstered gun into the top desk drawer. She figured she was going to have to learn to dial her wilder tendencies back a notch. Her husband may be a talented graphic novelist and a dedicated journalist on the crime beat, but unlike Richard Castle, Paul Whitaker didn't have Mayor Weldon on speed dial to save her from her worst missteps.

_'This is going to be a long case.'_ Hastings thought to herself with a sigh of resignation as she booted up her computer and began catching up on her paperwork. First and foremost on her list, a detailed written recounting of everything she had experienced the night she was taken. If she was going to be stuck here for the foreseeable future, she figured she might as well make herself useful. She and Tory Ellis would likely be spending a lot of time together.

* * *

Washington Heights  
Later that evening

Though the NYPD had been loath to change tactics at the whim of a murderous psychopath, it had been made absolutely clear to them over the past thirty-six hours that this guy was different. He was obviously not only extremely high functioning, but also intelligent, patient and cunning. The man had not only identified who the female decoys were by identifying their security details, he had specifically targeted one of them, overpowered her and spirited her away under their very noses without her being able to so much as raise a hand to defend herself or raise an alarm.

Detective Ann Hastings had only been recovered alive because he hadn't felt like killing her.

The remaining female Vice cops on the detail were a brave and determined lot. Even after they had been briefed about the tactical situation - every one of them now knew the score - they were willing to hit the streets anyway. Every single one of them had stepped forward and volunteered to continue the surveillance operation, in spite of the risks. They were a credit to their badges, but, now that they had been made, the night shift watch commander could no longer even marginally guarantee their safety.

They were ordered instead to trade in the skimpy hooker outfits for tactical gear and use their knowledge of the street workers to get somebody to talk. Though not a single one of them much enjoyed dressing like hookers and walking the streets to be leered at (both by johns _and_ some of their male coworkers) they liked the idea of caving to some deranged psychopath's demands even less.

They were not back on the streets long when they were approached repeatedly over the course of the night by both street walkers and some of the street level pimps about a guy known only as _"The Professor"_ ,who had been harassing the local hookers for months.

They heard a litany of stories about the man, every story had sounded pretty much the same, that the man had been _"messing with their business since Simmons got whacked"_ or that _"...he used to work for Simmons...but now he was taking over."_

None of them seemed to have an actual name and several pseudonyms had been offered, but _"The Professor"_ moniker seemed to hold up the most often. He had obviously been a topic of much concern for the street prostitutes and drug trade for some time.

He was described as an older white guy with steel rimmed glasses and graying, short cropped hair, who dressed not only conservatively, but well. The Russian girls mentioned that he understood their language and was quite fluent. They also noted that if he was crossed he had no issue sending a guy he referred to as _"Mr. Jacobs"_ to see them later. He was less than gentle, and nowhere near as articulate.

Though the pimps and street level toughs only saw a threat, the underling of a once-feared crime boss making a power play of his own in his former boss's territory, upsetting the natural balance, the street prostitutes were nervous when they spoke of him, feeling genuine fear. Not of Mister Jacobs, (rough treatment was something street hookers were sadly accustomed to) but of a woman who didn't have a name.

She was quiet, and they had been told that the only people who had ever seen her up close were dead. She carried a gun, but she did her dirty work with a knife. The Russian girls were particularly terrified of her, but nobody had seen her since before the killings had started. She was a ghost.

Though Kate Beckett had already ruled her out of the current killings, she knew they were speaking of Elena Markhov. She had seen Elena's skill with a blade up close and personal, and in spite of herself, even she felt a shiver run up her spine at the mention of her, partially because she knew who Elena really worked for, only she couldn't prove it:. Bracken.

* * *

The following day, the officers doing the canvas on-site were able to track down somebody who had actually spoken to "The Professor" in person, and convinced her to come in to the precinct for an interview. A young street prostitute named Melody Lyons.

After a short discussion with Kate and Rick in interview room two, informing her both of her rights, and that she was not under arrest, Miss Lyons opened up to them. She responded more readily to Rick than to herself, so she let him run the interview. The woman was quite brazen, not even mildly put off by the fact that she was in an NYPD interrogation room flirting with a married man. Kate doubted Melody Lyons would care even if she knew that his _wife_ was sitting right next to him as she tried to seduce him.

" _Knowing her,"_ Kate thought spitefully to herself, _"she would probably charge extra to let me watch."_

Kate trusted her husband implicitly and knew deep down Rick was merely playing the woman to get the information they needed for the case. A tactic she, herself had employed more than once in her career, and at least twice right in front of him. (the incident with a Russian mob-run poker game rose immediately to mind) She still found herself becoming increasingly frustrated and more than a little jealous after twenty minutes of watching his _"Richard Castle playboy author"_ persona on full display as he shamelessly flirted with her, though. She simply could not help herself and it took everything she had to school her features and keep her breathing even.

Rick noticed, of course, and stealthily rested a calming hand on her knee under the table, his thumb working a soothing pattern along the seam of her jeans without so much as skipping a beat in his performance. It helped.

' _And Rick wonders why I refuse to attend book signings with him,'_ she thought to herself, ' _if this is any indication, Paula would either have me escorted out, or I'd be carted off to jail for assault and battery on some blonde bimbo within half an hour.'_

She hadn't realized until that very moment how easily he stepped into and out of that role nor how complete the change was until she had seen it for herself. He had simply closed his eyes for a moment, took a breath and when he had opened them he was a different person. Nor did she realize how very taxing it was for him to maintain that persona until he was done. Rick visibly deflated in front of her eyes after Lyons had been escorted out of interrogation to the more comfortable conference room. Kate wasn't sure if it had always been like this for him, or if his recovery from the crash had cut into his reserves.

As frustrating (and to some degree nauseating) as Castle's display had been for Kate to watch, it had, nonetheless been effective as hell. Rick managed not only to get her to willingly part with more information than she could have without making threats, he had also convinced Miss Lyons to sit down with their sketch artist. Once Miss Lyons was finished in the conference room and was being escorted out of the precinct by a uniform, however, Kate broke her own rule about PDA in the precinct and made a point of kissing Rick full on the mouth after the prostitute had walked past and winked at him.

Rick's loyalties she was entirely certain of, but that woman's were suspect and Kate felt the overwhelming desire to mark her territory. Rick did not seem to mind one bit and certainly offered no objections that she could discern. Besides, it really did make her hot when he helped her solve things.

All trace of humor was gone however, when she saw the artist's sketch of _"The Professor."_ Looking back at her from that drawing was a man she had known only as _"Mr. Jones."_

It was a face she knew she would never forget, from a time of uncertainty and fear that still haunted her almost as deeply as the day she had been shot. She still had nightmares about that small dark room in the basement where she had been ruthlessly tortured for information she simply hadn't had. Then tortured some more... long after it was readily apparent she didn't have the information they wanted... simply because Vulcan Simmons had felt like it.

The whole time, Mr. Jones had been watching. She had seen him clearly standing in the background while Simmons and Harten had taken turns forcing her head under the cold water again and again until she had finally passed out, completely at their mercy.

Kate had given the sketch to Gates, who had ordered the drawing copied and circulated in every precinct and station house in Manhattan, then simply acquiesced when Castle had called his car service to take them home as if she was on autopilot. It had been hard enough for her to deal with the fact that there was a _second_ psychopathic serial killer on the loose who now knew where she and her family lived, but this new piece of information was just a little too much for her to deal with.

As soon as they were safely in the confines of their bedroom, she wrapped her body around that of her husband, seeking the reassuring distraction only Rick's strong arms could provide. He was quick to oblige her and soon his loving hands had the desired effect upon her, soothing her fears and insecurities then engulfing them both in a wave of passion as clothes were shed and their bodies sought sweet union.

Before long she would once more be in a confined space with that man, but tonight she wanted only to forget, a service her loving husband was all too happy to provide, helping her to empty her mind of fear and doubt as he made love to her well into the night before she fell sated into a dreamless sleep safe in his loving embrace.

Tomorrow would take care of itself.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's note** Thought I would have a bit of fun with this one. Sorry it took so long to get this one out, but it's hard to write angst than I thought it would be when I have photos of my great-niece on my phone. *cuteness overload*


	11. Building Theory

**Chapter Eleven  
Building Theory**

* * *

_"Ninety years ago, I was a freak. Now... I'm an amateur."  
_ Jack the Ripper to HG Wells in the movie "Time after Time" (1979)

* * *

_Previously_

_All trace of humor was gone however, when Kate saw the artist's sketch of "The Professor." Looking back at her from that drawing was a man she had known only as "Mr. Jones."_

_It was a face she knew she would never forget, from a time of uncertainty and fear that still haunted her almost as deeply as the day she had been shot. She still had nightmares about that small dark room in the basement where she had been ruthlessly tortured for information she simply hadn't had. Then tortured some more... long after it was readily apparent she didn't have the information they wanted... simply because Vulcan Simmons had felt like it._

_The whole time, Mr. Jones had been watching. She had seen him clearly standing in the background while Simmons and Harten had taken turns forcing her head under the cold water again and again until she had finally passed out, completely at their mercy._

_Before long Kate would once more be in a confined space with that man, but tonight she wanted only to forget, a service her loving husband was all too happy to provide, helping her to empty her mind of fear and doubt as he made love to her well into the night before she fell sated into a dreamless sleep safe in his loving embrace._

_Tomorrow would take care of itself._

* * *

**September 12th, 2014  
11:45 AM**

**12th Precinct Forensic Media Lab**

Tory Ellis had been a very busy woman since the twenty-four hours before Detective Hastings' return to the precinct. She'd had little sleep during the detective's disappearance, constantly running the footage from every traffic camera, ATM camera and patrol car unit camera within a five block radius from Hastings **'** last location before her abduction. Gates had praised her for her dedication and then sent her home under orders to take the night off after the little ceremony welcoming Hastings back.

Tory generally preferred to remain in the background unless she had some sort of information to offer. She had been back in her cubicle bright and early that morning after getting the first good night's sleep she'd had in quite a while. Forty-eight hours at her terminal catching only brief catnaps on the couch while data compiled had taken more out of her than it used to in college.

Though Tory wasn't used to having company in her domain, she was grudgingly grateful for Hastings' presence in the 12th's IT/computer forensics lab. It kept Detective Esposito at bay. He had been in for updates about her progress at regular intervals this morning, but something about having a pregnant married woman in the room seemed to throw him off his game. He had been quite...persistent about displaying his obvious interest in her since she had been assigned to the 12th a year ago.

If she was being honest with herself, she thought Javier Esposito was sex on a stick, but she wasn't stupid. She had heard the scuttlebutt about his on again/off again relationship with Doctor Parish.

Tory had seen Lanie give her the stink-eye more than once in the past few months and she really didn't want to be thrust into the middle of what was clearly an already confusing situation. She hadn't been with the Precinct long, (almost a year now) she would have to be blind not to see that there was something between the two of them which they seemed determined to both fight and pine for in equal measure. They would get close, then pull away, but they were always in each other's orbit.

Any relationship she had with Esposito would be doomed to failure. She had been down the road of being the third wheel once before and she had too much self respect to allow herself to be "rebound girl" again, especially when it was perfectly clear to _anyone_ who had ever seen Parish and Esposito in the same room together whom he really wanted. She was not about to allow herself to be used like that.

Tory couldn't quite bring herself to report him though, or push him away too harshly, but she had resisted his subtle advances something Dr. Parrish seemed to have noticed. She had honestly been surprised when the medical examiner had been the one to invite her to the disco dance party after that weird cold case had been solved. Detective Esposito's expression when he had seen them both dancing together had been...classic. She had to admit to herself, she had enjoyed seeing his open mouthed stare...it was sweet, harmless revenge for all of the eye-sex the man had been throwing her way.

Tory looked up at Hastings and acknowledged the woman's presence for the first time since she'd appeared in the doorway and had offered the woman a chair to sit in. She had been neck deep in forensic reports, traffic camera footage and database searches to be much of a conversationalist that morning. Tory was used to riding a desk, it was part of her job description, though she still did her mandatory training evaluations and twice-annual weapon certification.

She was still a cop, technically ranked at patrol officer's grade, but she had joined fresh from MIT and had been whisked into the Criminalistics program as a forensic computer specialist upon graduation from the academy. Eventually she had made her way to the 12th Precinct Homicide division where she had really wanted to be. This precinct had the highest clearance rate in the department and she had been taught all her life to strive to work with the best.

Her father had been a cop who'd put in twenty years at the 54th precinct as a Uniform and finished his tenure as watch commander. He had been reluctant at first to see his baby girl in uniform after busting his ass to put her through college, but he was proud of the work she was doing.

She instinctively knew, however, that Ann Hastings definitely was _not_ accustomed to riding a desk. She was used to being out there on the streets where the action was. Her dad had been the same way after his promotion to Watch Commander. Not to mention Hastings was pregnant and hormonal which made her a danger not only to herself but to anyone out there with her. A lesson she'd had to learn the hard way.

A small part of Tory's psyche rankled at the idea of having been assigned -even unofficially- the job of babysitting the pregnant lady which also made her feel a little ashamed that she had ignored Hastings all morning, though the woman seemed to be gracious about trying not to disturb her work. Tory had finally ground her way through the rest of the files on her plate before she got to the sketch of their current person of interest and set it up to run a facial recognition search on multiple databases.

Tory had left this for last because it would take the longest to run and didn't require her constant presence in the office, affording her the chance to get some lunch while it ran. She made a notation on the system to send an alert to her tablet when it had completed and then put her system in safe mode, locking everyone but her out of her system.

She had been here when the look-a-likes of Lanie and Esposito had absconded with all of the files on 3XK - the majority of which had yet to be scanned into the NYPD database - and had taken precautions to prevent the same from happening with the data under her authority.

She had protected her system with multiple encryptions to prevent that from happening including biometric scans, rotating her password every three days and stricter protocols involving who had access to what information. Even a doppelganger with hacking skills would be hard-pressed to breach the system. Only the terminal performing the search had access to the internet and it was not connected to the others and required fingerprint access.

Her unofficial designation as the 12th's reigning Tech Goddess was well earned. Detective Ryan had been good at this job - and even now he would fall over himself to be helpful - but she was better.

"Hastings," Tory said as she looked up from her terminal for the first time in several hours, turning her head to work out a kink in her neck as she spoke, "this database search is going to take an hour or two to compile, care to join me for some lunch?"

"Remy's?" Hastings suggested. "Paul has meetings with Marvel Comics all day for his next Lone Vengeance graphic novel and I have a serious craving for a burger and one of their shakes... they are _almost_ better than sex."

"I have been meaning to try the food there," Tory replied, she tended to hit either Starbucks or one of the other internet cafes during her lunch and dinner breaks, but she figured she could use a change of pace from her usual hangouts, "I've heard really good things about it."

"Then it's settled," Hastings replied with a conspiratorial wink, "you have _definitely_ been missing out. Lunch at Remy's it is...my treat. If we're really lucky we can catch Castle and Beckett making out in their booth. They really _weren't_ fooling _anybody_ , not even Gates, when they were trying to hide it."

With a wicked grin on both of their faces, Tory and Hastings grabbed their jackets and purses, linked arms and headed for for the door fast friends and thick as thieves.

* * *

**Meanwhile,** **In the Homicide Squadroom**

Kate Beckett had been sitting at her desk since nine in the morning. She took it as a sign of personal growth that she no longer showed up bright and early at six when there wasn't a body or any fresh leads on her current case load. She no longer felt the need to micromanage every case she worked as if crucial evidence in a case would somehow fall through the cracks if she wasn't there to shepherd it through the system personally. _'Like mom's case did.'_ a voice in the back of her mind told her.

Well... okay...she still felt it... but now she had a reason to stay home until her shift was _supposed_ to start. Someone to make her breakfast while she was on her morning run and actually make her sit and eat it before she put on her four inch heeled boots and rode the subway to the precinct. Someone to make her take better care of herself -and take care of her when she needed it- because she had people to come home to. Kate knew she wasn't in this alone anymore and it made her feel like a whole person in a way she hadn't since she'd graduated from high school.

It felt good to be needed.

She'd known something was up with her husband the moment he'd strolled into the precinct. He had a fire in his eye she hadn't seen in months and he was bouncing -literally bouncing- on the balls of his feet as he approached her desk. She hadn't seen the _"I have a theory"_ expression on his face since before the accident, but she fell into her part of it almost effortlessly before he could open his mouth.

"Don't say ninjas," she said before he could open his mouth.

"Or the CIA," she added before he could do it again, "or a mob hit."

"Wrong on all three counts, _Mrs. Castle_." Rick said with an expression of childlike glee on his face. He really got a kick out of saying that in the precinct - especially since he knew he wasn't supposed to - but she was going to let it go, because she had missed this part of their relationship.

"Then what is it, Castle?" Kate replied, feigning annoyance. It was part of the game. "I don't have all day, murderer to catch and all, remember?"

"Time-traveling killer," he responded with a glint in his eye.

Kate groaned. Rick hadn't used that one in a while. Not since the case involving the Steam-punk crowd and the dueling pistols. But then Rick pulled a series of printouts from his messenger bag. _'Oh, God...he's got visual aids.'_ She thought to herself, her palm touching her forehead, _'we'll be here all morning before I can shut him down'_

Rick turned the panel of the whiteboard around to the blank side, drew a time-line and tacked up his first printouts, cell-phone pics of the first three victims of the current case. On the far right.

"Remember how you had Tory run a search for murders with a similar m.o. after the second killing to see if this guy had struck before?"

"Yes, because he was too organized, too controlled for this to have been his first time." Kate replied.

As much as she thought his theory was wild speculation like most of them had been over the years... his theories had a way of pulling her out of the box to figure out what was really going on. That and she didn't want to crush his spirit... it had been a while since she'd seen it shine through and he was on a roll. It couldn't hurt to hear him out.

"Well I widened the search parameters to the last hundred and fifty years and came up with at least three sets of similar killings with a nearly identical m.o. right down to weapon type and wound pattern."

Kate perked up a little. Though she was certain the time travel aspect was absolute bunk, she thought Castle might be on to something.

"First I give you London's East End, the autumn of 1888." Castle said, almost solemnly, noting the dates on the time-line. "Note the hesitation in the first kill then the increasing violence of the attacks. The wound patterns on the last three victims are nearly _identical_ to our guy in every way."

"Jack the Ripper, Castle?" Kate asked, "That's your theory?"

"He never was caught, Beckett... but wait... there's more." Castle replied before tacking another set of printouts on the board.

"Rochester, NY, autumn 1889," Castle stated, "another series of violent murders. Fifteen women in all this time. Same weapon, same victimology, same wound pattern...then nothing."

Kate was beginning to be grudgingly impressed. _'He may be on to something here...maybe not the right thing...but something,'_ she thought to herself.

"Then again in Chicago starting in 1947 over the course of two years... twenty-seven women...all prostitutes, all mutilated the same way," Castle said. He hadn't drawn Kate in this deeply to one of his theories since "the guy in 8-B."

When she looked behind her Kate could see that Ryan and Esposito had been drawn to the commotion at the murder board. Ryan was following Rick's line of reasoning with undisguised fascination. He always had been quick to drink her husband's kool-aid, whether it was ghosts, zombies, or ninja assassins.

"Each time our guy escalated before disappearing. The only breaks in the pattern seem to be during World War I and Vietnam."

When Rick paused for a moment to let Kate think his theory over, Kate was surprised to hear Espo, of all people follow his line of reasoning.

"I'll bet if you had access to military files," Espo said, "you'd likely find a series of prostitute deaths that went unsolved during both wars. Prostitutes tended to go where the soldiers were, if a few went missing or turned up dead it would likely not have gotten the full attention a murder deserved."

Kate rolled her eyes at Espo, not just because he had followed Castle's theory and seemed to agree to its merit, but because she wasn't sure she wanted to know how he'd know something like that. It was creepy.

"I think you have been watching far too much Star Trek and Doctor Who for your own good Castle."

As much as she hated to shoot Rick's theory down, it was part of the game, and she did it with enough mischief in her eyes for him to know she wasn't doing it to hurt him. She knew it turned him on when she put her knowledge of Sci-fi out there for him, and this time it didn't disappoint.

She had to get him reigned in before Gates came out and saw the board.

"Actually, this theory has some merit, Mr. Castle." Gates said, from behind them, surprising them all.

_'Too late,'_ Kate thought to herself, trying not to cringe as she prepared for the worst.

"The thought that Jack the Ripper emigrated to America is a plausible theory, at least for the first set of murders," Gates explained. "The others, including our guy, could very well be copycats. The time-travel part is a bit too HG Wells meets Nicholas Meyer for my taste."

When all eyes turned in shock to meet those of Captain Victoria Gates, she merely shrugged and stated, "I did my Master's thesis at NYU on Jack the Ripper. There's a reason you beat me by six months Detective Beckett."

Gates favored them with a ghost of a smile and then sent them all out to lunch, admonishing them not to come back for at least an hour. With no new leads, and officers out canvassing there was no reason for her best detectives to not feed themselves.

She was glad to note that, for once, Detective Beckett didn't argue, simply grabbed Castle's arm and pulled them to the elevator. Kate had been shocked enough for one day and needed to get herself and her husband out of the precinct before the other shoe dropped.

Little did Kate know that she would not have to wait long for that to happen.

* * *

During lunch, there was no one in the computer lab to notice when the system first kicked out a name: John Jonas Pizer which then cycled through first Interpol, then British MI-5 and finally kicked over to Scotland Yard. The search had momentarily stalled because of a congressional hold set in place by former Senator William Bracken. One still in place since his removal from office. Unbeknownst to Tory or Hastings, a call had been made to his replacement, Evelyn Montgomery who had cleared it allowing the search to continue.

John Jonas Pizer was a Ukrainian émigré to England who had studied at Oxford before Anglicizing his name and embarking on a life of crime with ties to both narcotics and human trafficking, especially women from his native Ukraine.

Also unbeknownst to anyone, it had sent an alert to the desk of London Metropolitan Police Chief Inspector Lady Harriet Makepeace. She had personally placed a hold on his Metropolitan Police file and would be making a phone call to the NYPD first thing the next morning New York time. The London Metropolitan Police had picked him up the moment he showed his face in Heathrow International Airport.

They'd had him in custody for several days, but The Crown's case against him was weak. If they couldn't produce a strong enough case before his turn in the dock any decent barrister would have him out before afternoon tea. She'd pulled Inspector Hunt out of suspension especially for this case a year ago, he was the best they had and could think out of the box, but Pizer had covered his tracks too well. It didn't look good.

As much as Lady Harriet Makepeace had wanted him to be tried and sent to the Isle of Wight in connection with the death of her husband, former NYPD Lieutenant James Dempsey. Part of her found it fitting that her husband's former employer would have the privilege of putting away the murderer of one of its own. At least Pizer would be in a cage where he belonged.

James would have felt a certain vindication in that. She'd had the extradition paperwork filed in the Queen's court half an hour before closing time. They would be done almost before an extradition request could be filed. Pizer had apparently been involved in the abduction and attempted murder an NYPD Detective there, but she wanted to meet this Detective Beckett first, get the measure of her, see if she was the type to let him walk on some sweetheart deal like the now-disgraced Senator Bracken had been willing to hand down. If Harriet liked what she saw, then she would smooth the way for John Pizer's extradition.

If Lady Makepeace couldn't put the bastard away for her beloved James' murder, at least justice would be served...and served cold. She had heard that the winters in Ossining, NY were very cold indeed.

* * *

_**Author's Note ** A few references for your education, especially my non-American readers to help you keep up with where I'm going:_

_**Time After Time** is a 1979 American science fiction film starring Malcolm McDowell, David Warner and Mary Steenburgen, the directing début of screenwriter **Nicholas Meyer**. The film concerns British author H. G. Wells and his fictional use of a time machine to pursue Jack the Ripper into the 20th century._

_**Sing Sing Correctional Facility** _ _is a maximum security prison facility operated by the New York State Department of Corrections_ _in the village of_ _**Ossining, NY.** _ _It opened in 1826 and is located about 30 miles (50 km) north of New York City on the east bank of the Hudson River. The use of the expression "up the river" to mean "in prison" or "going to prison" in American slang derives from the practice of sentencing people convicted in New York City to serve their prison terms in Sing Sing, which is literally "up the Hudson River" from the city. Its use as slang dates from 1891._


	12. Keeping Up With Mr. Jones

**Chapter Twelve  
Keeping Up With Mr. Jones**

* * *

" _Get a girl's hair wet and they never let it go."  
_ Vulcan Simmons: Castle 6x22 Veritas

* * *

_Previously_

_As much as Lady Harriet Makepeace had wanted him to be tried and sent to the Isle of Wight in connection with the death of her husband, former NYPD Lieutenant James Dempsey. Part of her found it fitting that her husband's former employer would have the privilege of putting away the murderer of one of its own. At least Pizer would be in a cage where he belonged._

_James would have felt a certain vindication in that. She'd had the extradition paperwork filed in the Queen's court half an hour before closing time. They would be done almost before an extradition request could be filed. Pizer had apparently been involved in the abduction and attempted murder an NYPD Detective there, but she wanted to meet this Detective Beckett first, get the measure of her, see if she was the type to let him walk on some sweetheart deal like the now-disgraced Senator Bracken had been willing to hand down. If Harriet liked what she saw, then she would smooth the way for John Pizer's extradition._

_If Lady Makepeace couldn't put the bastard away for her beloved James' murder, at least justice would be served...and served cold. She had heard that the winters in Ossining, NY were very cold indeed._

* * *

**September 13** **th** **2014**

When Kate had gotten up that morning, she hadn't expected to be packing her rolling suitcase to board a flight, nor had she figured on Rick being so gung-ho to go with her. That was until she had gotten a phone call from Captain Gates that John Pizer was in a holding cell at New Scotland Yard and were holding him pending extradition hearings. This might be her one chance to interview him. If he fought extradition and won, he'd be in the wind.

"Castle, you realize they might not even let you into the interview room with me... you aren't a cop." Kate stated while he packed his weekend bag and quietly debated whether to bring his laptop or his tablet... before sliding them both into his messenger bag.

The flight to and from their honeymoon had been tense to say the least, Rick's distaste for enclosed spaces since his accident had been fully evident. She was trying to give him an out.

"I'm your partner, Kate. Where you go, I go," Rick replied, a look of fierce determination on his face, "besides, Dr. Swann told me that I needed to face my fear if I'm going to beat it."

Kate's face softened. She knew there wasn't a chance in hell that Rick would even _contemplate_ getting on a plane if _she_ wasn't going to London. She worried about him. He still held the passenger door handle in a near death-grip even on the short drive to the precinct and she wasn't certain how he was going to be able to handle an eight hour flight. The flight to and home from their honeymoon she'd had to medicate him. On the other hand she wasn't sure she could handle being away from him for nearly seven days either. The last time she had gone someplace without him at Captain Gates' urging she had almost been killed, so she could understand his desire not to be left out this time.

* * *

When they'd boarded their flight after a brief and slightly mortifying trip through security, during which she certain the TSA agent had groped her a bit too long on purpose - even after she had shown her badge - Castle had hustled them past the stewardess jump seats after noting a very familiar-looking blonde already buckled into one of them.

Blessedly, Rick had upgraded their seats to first class. He had seemed as mortified as she was at the possibility of Jacinda being on their flight, but at least whomever it was appeared to be flying as a passenger and not as flight staff. He looked a bit nervous to be flying as it was.

"Castle...was that...?" she began to ask, but cut herself off when she saw there were more important concerns. Castle was white as a sheet.

Kate helped him into his seat, whispering comforting words while she buckled him in before taking the seat next to his. He seemed determined to gut this out... to be her partner again in more than name and she hoped the flight wouldn't set his emotional recovery back. Thankfully, they had made plans to stay for a week, she hadn't been sure how long it would take for the State Department to work out extradition, especially if Pizer decided to fight it. She wanted to be able to interrogate him, just in case they couldn't get him back to New York.

She knew she didn't want to be the one to accompany the man for his return to the U.S.. Not with Rick in this state. She wanted to be around Pizer as little as possible after she interrogated him. He was the last loose end from her time in that cold, dark basement and she wanted to finally be able to put that horrible experience behind her, like she had with her mother's case.

Kate took Rick's right hand in her left, stroking his knuckles lightly as the Boeing 767 began to taxi to the runway and did her best to keep him focused on her and not a burning car in Long Island. Hopefully she could get him to relax enough so he could sleep through at least some of the flight, otherwise she would have to try to keep him calm. Kate never did know how long Rick had been trapped in the car before he'd managed to free himself, but it had obviously had a lasting effect. She had remembered similar feelings after their plunge into the Hudson River on her Crown Victoria and the thought made her shiver, even in the warmth of the aircraft.

Once the plane had reached cruising altitude and the "fasten seat belts" sign went out Rick seemed to relax a little. The first class seats did gave him the illusion of space and once he was free of the seat belt his spirits improved. As soon as he was able to get up and move around freely he seemed to feel more like himself. He even pulled his tablet from the overhead compartment and started playing Angry Birds Star Wars II to entertain himself.

Kate smiled in spite of herself and got up from her seat. At Rick's look of concern, she patted his shoulder and kissed him on the cheek.

"I have to pee," she whispered with a smile. "If the flight attendant comes for the in-flight meal, feel free to order for me."

Kate ambled back toward the restroom, trying to look more casual and relaxed than she felt. She eyed the curtain that led to the section where the flight attendants sat, and considered her options. She still felt a mild surge of jealousy over Rick's fling with Jacinda, even after all of this time. She had come close to having a fling of her own with Colin Hunt, but she just hadn't been able to bring herself to go through with it. She was certain that this was around the time he had found out that she'd lied about remembering his declaration of love at her shooting. She couldn't prove it, and they had never really talked about it directly, but she was certain of it.

They never discussed their fight in her apartment before she and Espo had gone after Maddox, either. That incident and Jacinda were two items on a very short list of topics they'd mutually agreed to file away as "water under the bridge" that never needed to be discussed again. With that in mind, she decided against finding out if the woman she had seen was indeed Jacinda and turned back toward their seats. Since Jacinda, if that was her, was obviously not working this flight there was no need to stir up trouble that was long ago put to rest, she decided to let sleeping dogs lie.

When Rick saw her walking back up the aisle so soon after leaving, he looked mildly confused.

"False alarm," Kate offered, smiling.

* * *

Rick set up his tablet for Skype, over which he managed to catch Alexis at home and have a wonderfully engaging conversation with her for the better part of an hour as Alexis regaled him with her latest adventures at Columbia. The news that she had renewed her friendship with Sara El-Masri was welcome indeed and showed that Alexis and Sara were both finally making progress after their ordeal. She seemed to be genuinely excited to be attending classes and being back on the campus social scene again.

Rick had made a point _not_ to ask if Martha was up to her usual shenanigans and Alexis didn't offer, but it was clear from the blush in the girl's cheeks and the way she fidgeted on the screen that - even within the short time they had been gone - something hinky was going on in the Castle loft. Kate rolled her eyes, _some things never change_. She and her father would have great fun at Rick's expense at their next Sunday brunch with him.

The rest of the flight was uneventful, though Rick had clutched the armrests of his seat with white knuckles as the plane passed through some turbulence toward the midway point. Other than that, the long flight had gone much better than she'd had any right to expect.

* * *

After they retrieved their luggage from baggage claim, passed through customs and got their entrance visas stamped, they managed to get aboard the Heathrow Express train for the fifteen minute ride to Paddington Station in central London. A brief taxi ride later they arrived at the Soho Hotel, where Rick had booked them one of the Penthouse Suites.

Kate had begun to object to the lavish room until she walked inside. The décor was exquisite and the chairs were all done in purple. Her reaction was not dissimilar to the one she'd had when she had walked into the loft for the first time. The large floor to ceiling windows bathed the place in light and the view was astounding.

"I knew we'd need a place to decompress after the flight, and after being cooped up in the plane, I needed someplace light and open. We can get in a nap and get dinner in the restaurant later. Deal with some of this jet lag," Castle explained.

Kate decided to let it go. She'd fallen in love with the suite as soon as they walked into it, and Castle seemed to be happy and more relaxed. Rick was trying to teach her to live a little and they had come to a compromise after their wedding. Rick had agreed that he wouldn't go too far overboard trying to spoil her, and she had agreed not to raise a fuss when he _did_ decide to spend money on her. Christmas and their anniversary were, of course, considered fair game. Other holidays, Kate had veto power over.

Rick may have toned down his womanizing playboy image to suit her, but Kate knew that, to some degree, he still had a certain lifestyle to live up to in order to keep his publisher and publicist happy. One ex-wife visiting the loft had been quite enough, she really didn't need an angry, overbearing Gina showing up at their door next, likely with the abrasive publicist from Queens in tow.

That he'd put his foot down with both Gina _and_ Paula about not showing up to release parties with arm candy nor signing chests was proof enough of his commitment to their marriage.

She had remembered that phone call at their breakfast bar the week after the wedding quite well. She and Alexis had quietly fist-bumped when he got to the _"...I'm happily married to the love of my life and I'm no longer signing other women's chests..."_ part of the phone conversation.

Alexis had told her how mercenary his wedding to Gina had been, especially toward the end. She'd even sent him to do a book signing on their honeymoon. The more Kate learned about his ex-wives, the less anxious and more secure she felt about her own marriage to Richard Castle. Having Alexis firmly in her cheering section certainly helped. No matter how much he grumbled about the two of them _"conspiring against him in his own home."_

Kate put a stop to her introspection when she realized just how tired and wrung out the two of them were and getting herself all worked-up thinking about his playboy image and his two ex-wives was not helping. They took a long, luxurious hot shower together then collapsed into bed, too jet-lagged and worn out even for sex; in spite of how hot and heavy they had gotten in the shower and their best intentions. Kate knew she would use some of that frustration to power herself through the next day.

As she fell asleep that night wrapped snugly in Rick's arms, her last thoughts were of what was to come the next morning when she would be confronting a man she hadn't seen outside of her nightmares in over five months. She closed her eyes to an uneasy sleep, haunted by images she had long kept buried.

* * *

 **September 14** **th** **2014  
8:45 AM London time **

Kate woke with a start, a silent scream on her lips, the dank feeling of that dark basement all over her skin, her night clothes wet and clammy causing her to shiver uncontrollably. She'd been awakened only once before that night and it had taken Rick the better part of an hour to get her calmed down enough to go back to sleep.

She felt around in the darkened room for her husband but he was nowhere to be found, which ratcheted up her anxiety. In spite of his mild claustrophobia, Rick had pulled the drapes closed to make her feel more comfortable after waking from her nightmare last night. Her shooting and the basement had gotten crossed up in her dream and she had recalled being more than a little paranoid.

She relaxed exponentially when a moment later he turned the corner into the bedroom fully dressed with two cups of coffee in his hands. One look at her and he rushed to the bed, set the two steaming travel cups on the end table and swept her into his arms. She buried her face in his shirt as he held her, brushed a kiss to the top of her head then rested his chin into her hair while she composed herself, breathing in his scent deeply.

The solid warmth of his body helped Kate to relax and push away the images of Rick being tortured in her place... _his_ head being shoved under the water while Simmons and Mr. Jones held her down and made her watch... simply to make her bear witness to his suffering because she didn't have the information they wanted.

"Same dream?" Rick whispered into her hair and she nodded her head, unable to form the words.

"I could go with you," he offered, "my appointment with Scotland Yard's records office isn't until after lunch. You don't have to do this alone."

"This time... I think I do babe," Kate said quietly, her voice not quite a whisper, but it wasn't quite the authoritative voice of _Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD Homicide_ either, "I need to be in that room, and stare this bastard down... show him that Simmons didn't break me."

Jim Beckett's tale of little Katie Beckett refusing a night light as a child because she needed to stare down her fear of the dark herself sprung immediately to mind. She needed to face her fear on her own terms. He could respect that. She didn't want to appear weak, or give Pizer something to use against her like Simmons had years before.

"He didn't break you, love, you have nothing to prove, either to me _or_ that son of a bitch," Rick said, his voice having taken on the low and dangerous rumble it had when he was protecting his own. Kate didn't have to see his face to know the dangerous glimmer in his eyes.

She had seen it before when he had beaten Hal Lockwood's face bloody four years ago, again when he'd asked to be alone with the getaway driver after Alexis' kidnapping and on that dark night on the bridge when Jerry Tyson had held a gun to her head. Very few people knew how violently dangerous Richard Castle could be when someone he loved was under threat. He could be very lethal when he needed to be. She was more afraid for him, that he would act out of anger and get himself in to trouble than she was of being in that room alone with Pizer.

"I need to prove it to me." she finally whispered, and left it at that.

* * *

**New Scotland Yard  
11:30 AM London Time**

Detective Kate Beckett strode confidently into New Scotland Yard, her impossible four inch heeled boots clacking on the floor as she walked into the building like she _owned_ the place, wearing the same crisp suit and severe hairstyle she had worn to her interview in Washington DC last year. Her badge was prominently displayed on her belt and her Glock 19 holstered in it's customary place on the back of her right hip.

She knew she would likely have to hand it over to security before being allowed out of the lobby, but she wasn't concerned. Even in the 12th she knew better than to bring a sidearm into an interrogation. But if John Pizer (aka _"Mr. Jones)_ thought she was going to come before him like some doe-eyed frightened child, then he had another thing coming. Kate was taking back her power from him, just like she had with his boss the year before that, Rick's words from so long ago ringing in her ears.

" _There is no such thing as fear in this dojo."_

Kate didn't know how Rick had managed to wrangle the British Consulate _and_ MI-6 to clear her to carry her service weapon in the UK, (he'd made it clear she didn't _want_ to know, either) but she wasn't going to question it, nor was she sure if said _"guy"_ had any connection to Rick's father, but she decided that was something she didn't want to know either. As long as Jackson Hunt, (or whatever name he went by this week) didn't show up to turn their lives upside down again anytime soon she was fine with it. She was touched that her husband had thought of her need to feel powerful in this situation.

After removing the magazine from her Glock (her backup piece was locked in the safe back at the hotel) and displaying there was no round in the chamber, Kate placed them both in the pistol box provided, signed the ledger, and pocketed the printout that would permit her to redeem it when her business was concluded. Shortly after that, a young, female constable appeared to escort her past the security cordon and into the elevator.

Today, Mr. Jones was going to meet a wounded animal in a dark basement, he was going to meet the huntress.

* * *

**Homicide and Serious Crime Command  
New Scotland Yard**

Inspector Colin Hunt had arrived at his desk in Homicide an hour ahead of schedule. He had spent the better part of six weeks on suspension after his foray into New York, investigating the death of his god-daughter and Lady Harriet had thrown the book at him. The fact that she would have done much the same once upon a time - or if she'd had a shot at the rat bastard who had murdered her husband - was probably why his punishment hadn't been more severe.

That particular right nasty piece of work had been found floating face down in the Thames not a fortnight after the incident while she had still been on bereavement leave in official mourning. There were at least a half dozen people, two of whom were members of the royal family, who could vouch for the fact that she could not have been involved in that piece of business. He had spent the last several days since Pizer's apprehension in Heathrow Airport trying to solidly prove Pizer's connection to both murders with little success. He was a slippery bastard who certainly knew how to cover his tracks.

Arrangements had still been in the planning stages for the full honors funeral for which he was entitled. Lady Harriet's former boss, Sir Gordon Spikings KVCO (who had given the eulogy at Dempsey's funeral) had offered later to come out of retirement to investigate Dempsey's murder personally. She had refused Sir Gordon's offer and instead brought _him_ back from suspension nearly two weeks early to take point on the case because she wanted somebody who could, as the Americans say, think out of the box.

Hunt had only personally met Inspector James Dempsey once or twice, but he thought the man was a pretty good chap for an older fellow, even a Yank. If his own experience with the NYPD was any indication, that seemed to be a common quality with them. But it wasn't the fact that an American police detective was coming in to interview his prisoner that had him up bright and early dressed more smartly that he usually did unless there was an official inspection, it was the identity of said Detective.

Kate Beckett.

The two of them had worked well together, especially when they had gotten away from that Mystery Writer who was carrying quite a bit of repressed feelings for her, considering he was seeing somebody else at the time. For a brief few minutes when they had that drink together he thought she'd been tempted to take him back to her place before she had shut herself down and fled the bar, a seedy little place called _'The Old Haunt"_.

By the time he had paid the cheque and made it outside,she was already piling into a taxi and was gone. He never thought he'd ever get the chance to see her again, but now fate had brought her to his side of the pond, and he hoped maybe they could pick up where they had left off. He was determined to give it a throw anyway. She was still listed as Beckett on her passport, so he figured he at least had a shot with her.

Little did he know his opportunity had long since passed.

* * *

Colin Hunt was on his feet as soon as Kate had stepped out of the elevator. Dressed for business, she seemed even more alluring to him as she had been in that full-length ball gown she had worn to the Gala at the British Consulate. He was actually even more besotted with her than before, if that were possible. It took a lot of self control to stay at his desk, not to mention sit down.

PC Mitra was leading Beckett straight to Lady Harriet's office and he knew better than to approach before he was asked for. He'd made that mistake once before - the day after he'd returned from New York to be precise - and it hadn't been pretty. She'd had to call in a lot of old markers from her SI-10 days simply to allow him to keep his job after the stunt he'd pulled at that Gala. He'd stormed into her office that day like a real wanker after everything she had done to save his job and she'd set him straight on that score before suspending him for six weeks.

He would have been on suspension _longer_ if she hadn't needed him on the Pizer case. As much as he wanted to renew his acquaintance with the lovely Detective Beckett, he had far too much respect for the woman who was his boss to not defer to her judgment. His previous boss when he was still in uniform, DCI Tennyson would never have gone so far out on a limb for him like Lady Harry had done and he knew it.

To put it mildly, he owed her and he always paid his debts. His private life could wait a few minutes.

* * *

Kate's interrogation of John Pizer had been a lot more uncomfortable than she had realized , but not for the reason she had originally feared. John Pizer was not the monster he had appeared to be in her nightmares of that night in the basement. It hadn't taken a fool to realize that she had transferred most of her fear from that night from Simmons and "Mr. Harten" to him, because they were dead and he was still running loose.

It was the fact that Inspector Colin Hunt had somehow gotten it into his head that working one undercover case together as his "date", the drink they had shared and twenty minutes of seeing her at her lowest had somehow given him the right to take certain liberties with her.

He had asked her if they could go out for coffee or drinks later at least twice since Chief Inspector Makepeace had asked him into her office and assigned him to accompany her on her interrogation and then sent them on their way. She had, at first, thought to object, but hadn't wanted to rock the boat in an unfamiliar police force. By the time the interview was over and Kate had determined that he was likely _not_ their prime suspect in her murder case, she had come to regret that decision.

She'd had to remove his hand from her knee at least three times when things had gotten heated between herself and Pizer. What would have been a calming gesture from Rick had had the opposite effect on her coming from Colin Hunt. By the time that Pizer had been lead out of the interrogation room, she'd had quite enough.

"What the _hell_ is your problem, Hunt?" she hissed at him after pushing him against the wall.

"You were getting a bit emotional, Kate," Inspector Hunt replied, "I was trying to be supportive."

"In what universe did you think that our previous history _entitled_ you to get handsy with me?" Kate seethed. As much as she wanted desperately to throw her marriage in his face, she wanted to handle this professionally. She was representing the NYPD in a foreign country and she was trying hard to be taken seriously.

"I would like to think that you can at least behave professionally in your own workplace, _Inspector_ Hunt," Kate stated harshly, poking a finger in his chest for emphasis. "We worked a case and shared a drink _three years ago_ , when I was feeling vulnerable. That does _not_ entitle you to treat me like a piece of meat."

Colin Hunt had realized in that moment that he had misread Kate's signals since they had left Lady Harriet's office entirely. He had thought she had left an opening for him to pursue her, when in reality she was trying to be professional in spite of the fact that their previous experience together had made her uncomfortable now that she was on his turf. He still smarted a little at the rejection and wondered what had changed since that night in the American pub, but he was wise enough to let the matter drop for now. He knew from grim experience that the walls do in fact have ears.

As he followed Kate out of the interrogation room, he was stopped sharply from following her.

"Inspector Hunt, might I have a word?" Lady Harriet said, exiting the observation room.

" _Oh, bollocks,"_ Hunt thought to himself. From the expression on her face, things seemed to have gone from bad to worse.

"Mum,." he stated, bringing his posture straight as he turned to regard his superior officer. He could tell that she was not quite pleased with his less than professional performance either.

"If you are quite done trying to add to your social calendar today," she stated, her displeasure with his attitude quite plain in her icy tone, "you _might_ want to try turning those keen observational skills of yours to more than Detective Beckett's athletic physique. If you had been paying attention, you _might_ have noticed the wedding band on her left ring finger."

" _Bugger me,"_ he whispered under his breath. She had made her point, but it would seem that she wasn't quite done driving it home.

"So," she continued, "not only were you so keen on treating a visiting detective disrespectfully, which reflects poorly not just upon me, but upon the entire Met, were you also blissfully unaware that not only was she married, but that her _husband_ is also inside this very building?"

"Bollocks," Colin whispered, a little louder than he had intended.

"Bollocks indeed," Lady Harriet stated firmly, the word sounding slightly more profane to Hunt coming from her, "I would _suggest_ that the next time you happen to be in the same room with her, should she even desire to be anywhere near you after your display in there, that you apologize not just for yourself but on behalf of the entire unit and pray she doesn't decide to lodge a formal complaint. Given who her husband is, even _I_ might not have enough pull to save your job this time. Understood?"

"Yes, mum," He replied, feeling like a prize ass, as Lady Harriet turned on her heel and left him to stew.

"Married?" he whispered under his breath, "To _whom_?" As he pondered the idea on his way back to his desk, the idea finally struck him to do a Google search where he quickly found her wedding announcement.

" _Bollocks!"_ Hunt exclaimed under his breath when he read the wedding announcement attached to the photo of Kate and Richard Castle and thought to himself with a chagrined smirk, _'I guess the old sod pulled his head out of his arse after all.'_

* * *

**Soho Hotel  
5:00 PM London Time**

Kate had been waiting for the better part of an hour for Rick to get back to their suite. The interview with John Pizer had gone as well as could be expected, in spite of Colin Hunt's poor judgment and unprofessional advances. A brief chat with Lady Harriet had ended with an apology for her subordinate's behavior and her assertion that she would work to hasten John Pizer's extradition back to New York to face charges for money laundering and narcotics trafficking, not to mention conspiracy in the abduction and attempted murder of a New York City Police Detective. It had just been a long way to travel to have _her_ suspect alibi out.

She was overjoyed beyond words to see Rick when he bounded into the suite, his messenger bag stuffed full of photocopies. He had obviously found something worth sharing.

"So, lover," Kate purred seductively, letting her hair fall around her shoulders and her unbuttoned blouse fall open to reveal her lacy black bra underneath, "find anything interesting in your research today?"

Castle let his messenger bag drop to the carpeted floor after pulling the door closed.

"Nothing more interesting than what I found waiting here for me," he replied, his eyes transfixed at the sight of her, "I may need investigate this lead further."

"Good answer." Kate said her eyes full of lust, and need.

"I'll tell you all about the... rest of it..." Castle whispered seductively in her ear as he walked her backwards toward the crisply made bed, slipping the blouse off of her shoulders to the floor, fingers moving to the front clasp of her bra, "later."

Further conversation drifted away in favor of wandering hands, discarded clothing and soft moans of pleasure as the Rick and Kate's bodies came together, washing away all traces of their day apart. The long difficult flight notwithstanding, Kate was truly glad her partner had insisted upon coming along.

* * *

**Two hours later**

Rick and Kate lay tangled in the sheets enjoying a meal brought to them by room service. Four rounds of intense sex had left them keyed up and hungry so Rick had called down. He hadn't even let the young lad who brought their meal into the room, simply paid him along with a generous tip. And they sat curled up enjoying a selection of finger foods and wine.

As promised, Rick was detailing what he'd found in Scotland Yard's files, including the confidential section where he'd had to turn over all of his electronic devices, including his cell phone. He had recorded everything on his tablet as soon as his things were returned to him. What he'd found here had sent him on a veritable treasure hunt of information about the 1888 Whitechapel killings. Including the mention of the two suspects he had found most notable in his research, namely, Montague John Druitt who had purchased a steamship ticket to New York within days of the last murder in 1888 and a man named James Kelly, who had been in and out of asylums prior to the killings but had disappeared from British records shortly afterward.

Kate lay curled in his embrace enjoying the way Castle weaved the information into his theories.

Though most of his theories had been absolute fiction, she had always secretly enjoyed seeing how his mind spun seemingly inconsequential or trivial facts into the most elaborate of theories. Though far-fetched, this theory was starting to grow on her. Since she had nothing better to go with after John Pizer had alibied out, she was content to enjoy the workings of her husband's mind.

"I went to the White Star Line offices off Trafalgar Square, after I left Scotland Yard," Castle continued, "and asked to peruse their records for the _SS Republic._ The lovely young lady in charge of the records room was a fan. Though I refrained from signing her chest out of deference to my daughter and my lovely wife..."

"You better have," Kate replied icily with her best death glare in place. An afternoon of spurning the propositions for dinner and/or drinks, and other inappropriate behavior by an apparently clueless Inspector Colin Hunt left her in no mood to hear Castle make jokes about the flailings of some British fangirl which, thankfully, he seemed to pick up on.

"...she was overjoyed to allow me to peruse their records." Castle finished, realizing he'd misread the situation and likely pushed his attempt at their usual banter a little too far.

"Not only was there no record of a James Kelly sailing on the _Republic,_ but there was no record of _anyone_ by that name on any White Star or Cunard ships on the North Atlantic run at that time."

"What happened to this Druitt character?" Kate asked. "Didn't he have to board the ship to appear on the passenger manifest?"

"Druitt's lifeless body was found floating in the Thames seven weeks later." Castle replied, producing the photocopied report. "James Kelly seems to have appeared out of thin air in New York Harbor when the Republic docked..."

Kate finished the sentence for him, "...then not four weeks later, the killings started up again in Rochester."

"I think we've established a connection," both of them said in unison as they looked into each other's eyes and shared a long searing kiss. They hadn't been this in sync since before Rick's car accident, and this time there was a _"do not disturb"_ sign on their door, and Ryan or Esposito were on the other side of the ocean and could not interfere. Even their cell phones were blessedly silent.

They had a couple of days to kill before Scotland Yard and the U.S. State Department got back to them about extradition. They decided between them they would use the time as the respite from the case they sorely needed. Ryan and Esposito would get back to them if anything turned up.

Neither of them was ready to think about the plane ride back yet as they dove back into the blankets for another round of over-the-top monkey sex. Nor did they wish to give John Pizer or Colin Hunt even a cursory second thought for a couple days.

They decided to just be.

* * *

_****Author's Notes**** I would like to thank Liv Wilder for her many contributions to this chapter, including but not limited to the References to Lady Harriet Makepeace (from the 80's British TV show "Dempsey and Makepeace), the Soho Hotel (which actually exists, and looks exquisite from their website), her knowledge of London and putting up with this silly Yank asking her damn fool questions at odd hours of the night for a fanfic that wasn't really her cup of tea(pun intended)._

_As always, an enthusiastic thank you to Cofkett, my Beta, who was away volunteering her time at a summer camp for disadvantaged children with no WIFI this past weekend. So feel free to re-read ch 11 if you want to check it out with her corrections now that she's back online. And for Dtrekker for the lovely cover art. If I keep on pumping out long chapters like this, I just might make it to 50K by September 28_ _th_ _._

_**Historical notes:** _

_**Montague John Druitt** _ _(15 August 1857 – 31 December 1888) actually existed and was, in fact, found floating in the Thames River after being in the water for nearly seven weeks(which would have put his time of death shortly after the last of the murders). He was a possible suspect in the Ripper murders, but not considered a very credible one. The coroner's inquest listed his death as a suicide._

 _**James Kelly** _ _(20 April 1860 – 17 September 1929) was also a genuine Ripper suspect. In a Discovery Channel program called "Jack the Ripper in America", retired NYPD cold-case detective Ed Norris claimed that James Kelly was Jack the Ripper, and that he was also responsible for multiple murders in cities around the United States._

_**The White Star Line steamship SS Republic** also actually existed. She was launched on 4 July 1871, and set sail on her maiden voyage from Liverpool to New York City on 1 February 1872. She was the first White Star Line command of Captain John Smith (of Titanic fame) from 1887 until January of 1889 when she was sold to the Holland America Line and renamed SS Maasdam._

_There you go, entertainment AND a history lesson...all in one place. Can I be any LESS of a history nut?_

_Enjoy._


	13. Turning Point

**Chapter Thirteen  
Turning Point**

* * *

_"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you."  
_ Friedrich Nietzsche

* * *

_Previously_

_"I think we've established a connection," both of them said in unison as they looked into each other's eyes and shared a long searing kiss. They hadn't been this in sync since before Rick's car accident, and this time there was a "do not disturb" sign on their door, and Ryan or Esposito were on the other side of the ocean and could not interfere. Even their cell phones were blessedly silent._

_They had a couple of days to kill before Scotland Yard and the U.S. State Department got back to them about extradition. They decided between them they would use the time as the respite from the case they sorely needed. Ryan and Esposito would get back to them if anything turned up._

_Neither of them was ready to think about the plane ride back yet as they dove back into the blankets for another round of over-the-top monkey sex. Nor did they wish to give John Pizer or Colin Hunt even a cursory second thought for a couple of days._

_They decided to just be._

* * *

**SOHO Hotel**   
**London, England**   
**8:00 A.M. local time**

Kate Beckett had been awakened by her phone an hour ago. For most of the week, since she'd interrogated him, John Pizer had been making noise about fighting extradition. He'd hired one of the best barristers specializing in international law his money could buy.

She'd had a pretty rough time the previous night, plagued by persistent nightmares about that dark basement, about her shooting, and even her mother's murder. The uncertainty of weather Pizer would walk had tugged mercilessly at her worst insecurities and fears.

Dr. Burke had warned her many times that bringing her mother's killer to justice would not make those fears and doubts, much less the dreams, simply disappear like waving some proverbial magic wand. She had carried them, the secrets, fears and doubts, since Detective Raglan had been waiting at their door when she was nineteen years old. They had shaped her and molded her into the woman and later the cop she was today.

Though she had fought and struggled these past three years since her shooting that warm spring morning to be... more, to not let that cold January evening fifteen years ago define her any longer, she knew to some degree the loss of her mother right at the beginning of her adult life would always be a part of her. It had dominated her life for nearly half of it now.

But, Kate also knew that the man now sharing the posh hotel room bed with her, his body spooned behind her with an arm draped protectively around her waist would be a part of it from now on, too. She felt it in the words he had written in his books about her. In the way he brought her coffee every day and the way he strove to lighten even the darkest parts of her life. In the way his body had instinctively molded to hers in his sleep when she'd come back to bed five minutes ago.

She had taken his last name, except in her professional world... he would be hers, and she, his forever... Always.

Kate knew she would need to wake Rick up soon. The phone call had been from Chief Inspector Makepeace to let her know that there had been a change in the status of John Pizer's extradition proceedings and that he would be scheduled for transport as soon as she was prepared to leave. She would have to return for Scotland Yard for further details and for her to sign the documents for the prisoner transfer.

Kate was unsure if she was ready to deal with another day at Scotland Yard. She wasn't sure she wanted to have another uncomfortable run-in with Colin Hunt, but she also didn't feel right asking that he not be present in his own workplace. This time she knew she would not be able to keep Rick from coming along and things between him and Colin could get out of hand remarkably quickly, especially if Hunt had not gotten the message she had sent loud and clear last time.

But for now, Kate just wanted to feel her husband's body wrapped around hers where she felt safe and protected. The one thing that she hadn't known was missing until this overgrown nine-year-old on a sugar rush barged into her life six years ago and refused to leave. She loved him beyond words. Once she was home she would get the damn passport changed.

She had become Kate Beckett in name only, because her job and her reputation required it. In her heart she was Katherine Houghton Castle now and she didn't care who knew it. His family was now hers, one family knit together from the broken remains of two. And she no longer cared who saw them or who knew about it.

* * *

**10:45 AM**   
**New Scotland Yard.**

Richard Castle walked through the metal detectors to get into the building and waited as Kate once again went through the same procedure to turn over her service weapon that she had earlier in the week as he held her coat and purse for her. He knew that if it were not for him she would have been here hours ago to find out what Lady Harriet had called her about at seven that morning. Instead she had waited and let him wake up at his own pace so he wouldn't be on-edge all day, knowing that they would be traveling the following morning.

He loved the married life that he and Kate got to share, the sides of each other that no one else got to see, not even Alexis and his mother. At the precinct, she was still Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD, the force of nature and kick-ass homicide cop who chased down murderers in four inch heels then got them to spill their guts in the interrogation room. The seemingly tireless advocate who spoke for the dead when the wicked had robbed them of their voices.

At home though, she became something more, she was Kate Castle, wife, stepmother, and daughter-in-law. With her mother's case no longer hanging over her head now that justice had finally been served, had truly begun to open up since the day she had placed the handcuffs on William Bracken and read him his Miranda rights, and allowed herself to explore who she was without that weight around her shoulders. She smiled and laughed more and was no longer quite so willing to take unnecessary risks. She had a life to come home to and he was proud that she had made him a part of it.

But, Rick noticed that something had been off with Kate this morning. She seemed to have been intentionally dragging her feet getting out of bed and all through breakfast, even procrastinated about getting dressed and putting her shoes on. It almost seemed to him like she was dreading coming back here. He knew better than to push when she was like this, had come to learn that if he gave her a little breathing room to sort things out in her head, that she would eventually come to him about what was bothering her. She just needed to work things out for herself first.

Whatever it was about New Scotland Yard that was making her uncomfortable to return here, she would reveal it to him when she was ready. He was not disappointed when they stepped into the elevator and the doors closed, leaving them alone in the empty space.

"You remember Colin Hunt?" Kate began, bolt out of the blue. Her eyes staring ahead, unable to look Rick in the eye.

"Yeah...I remember." Rick muttered softly, recalling his own shameful behavior when they had first met the Inspector, his own eyes on the floor.

"Well, John Pizer is the prime suspect in a case he's been working for the last two years, so he sat in with me while I interrogated him." Kate stated hesitantly.

"And?" Rick replied, noting that it would take something more that meeting a guy she'd gone undercover with nearly two years ago that had her feeling so uncomfortable. She ate murderers and psychopaths for breakfast.

"Well..." she began, still trying to find her words, "I don't think he... quite got the memo that I was off the market, and he spent most of that morning flirting and hitting on me. I didn't really pay him any mind, in fact I did my best to ignore his advances, but then he crossed the line... he got a bit handsy with me during the interview with Pizer."

Rick's posture noticeably stiffened. He was well aware that Kate was a beautiful woman, and that she got flirted with and propositioned by men in her line of work often. He had seen it more than once since he had begun shadowing her. She even played it up a time or two when she'd been undercover. He didn't like seeing it, but he had learned to take it with a grain of salt, especially now that she was coming home with him every night. But this was different.

Not because he thought she harbored feelings for the man, or that he had any reason to doubt Kate's fidelity, but because Colin Hunt had disrespected his wife, the love of his life under the guise of authority while she was working. That was something he simply could not abide. Nobody disrespected his wife or treated her like a piece of meat while he lived, period...full stop.

He knew he had been silent for too long when Kate began to speak again.

"I'm sorry, Rick... I know I should have told you sooner... but... I'm not keeping secrets... I promise."

Rick reached down and took her hand, meeting her eyes for the first time since the conversation began.

"Kate, love, don't...you didn't do anything wrong...he was out of line, but that behavior is on him, not you. He had no right to treat you that way. If you want me to have a word with him or Lady Harriet, I will, or not whatever you decide. I trust you babe."

"I got in his face and told him off, Rick... this isn't the whole Eric Vaughn thing again, I'm not conflicted about our relationship the way I was back then. I didn't give him any reason to think..."

"Kate, I know, okay? I know. I'm more upset _for_ you than _at_ you. Inspector Hunt overstepped his professional bounds, if this is the way he works..."

Before Castle could finish his thought, however, the elevator doors opened and Kate shushed him with a flicker of her eyes. She hoped that Rick would let her deal with this in her own way and not make a scene. She didn't want to have to explain to Captain Gates if Rick ended up detained in London for roughing up a Police Inspector. This didn't stop her from taking Rick's hand in hers as they rounded the corner within sight of Colin Hunt's desk as they passed by, just to make her point.

The death-glare Kate gave Colin Hunt as they walked past him to Lady Harriet's office told Rick all that he ever needed to know about her feelings on the matter. She had made them abundantly clear - to him and to Hunt. He almost felt sorry for the man... almost.

When they stepped into Chief Inspector Makepeace' office, she waved them over to a pair of seats in front of her desk.

"Detective Beckett, Mr. Castle, please have a seat," Lady Harriet began, "thank you both for coming in to see me instead of insisting we do this over the phone. What I need to tell you will only take a few moments of your time."

"What do you have for me?" Beckett replied, her cop persona firmly in place.

"John Pizer has decided not to fight extradition,." Lady Harriet stated flatly without further preamble.

"When you updated me the other day, it sounded like he was dead-set on fighting it," Kate replied, shocked, "what changed?"

"I don't know," Lady Harriet said, clearly as confused about this turn of events as Kate was. "According to the logs, he had a visitor early this morning for approximately ten minutes, an older man with the proper credentials from his barrister's legal firm, so the cameras were turned off in his cell. Fifteen minutes later, the man was calling out for the guard that he was no longer interested in fighting extradition."

Kate looked over at her husband. Though he was silent she could sense that something was going on behind those blue eyes of his. She could sense the wheels turning in the back of his mind as he mulled over this latest piece of information as he tried to digest this new turn of events.

She would make certain to ask him later if he had any theories as to why a man who had everything to gain by staying in London and a whole hell of a lot to lose by returning to New York, (even if he was cleared of involvement in the current case) would suddenly decide to choose the latter.

"I see,." Kate replied, trying not show the confusion she was feeling at this turn of events, "was there some reason why you needed us to come down here? You could just as easily have told me this over the phone."

Lady Harriet rose from her desk, waving at them to remain seated as she walked to the door.

"I admit that I may have had an ulterior motive in having the two of you come down this morning." she stated as she opened the door and motioned to someone outside. "One of my Inspectors has something he would like to say to you."

When Colin Hunt walked in the door, Rick rose from his seat, a look of shock followed by a flash of anger on his face.

"What the hell...?!" Rick began but Kate cut him off with a hand on his arm urging him to sit next to her again. When he complied, Hunt, who had changed into his full dress uniform, walked over and stood next to Harriet's desk. He looked Kate and then Rick in the eye before he began to speak, his words carefully chosen.

"Detective Beckett," Inspector Hunt began, "I asked Lady Harriet to have you come in so that I could formally apologize to you for my behavior the other day. My behavior and actions were unprofessional, completely out of line with department regulations. and without thought for you or your feelings. For that I hope you can accept my full and unreserved apology.

Before Rick could say anything, Hunt addressed the next statement to him.

"Mr Castle, I know that the two of us got off on the wrong foot when we first met, but I want you to know that I do not make a habit out of that sort of behavior. I hope that the next time we meet it will be under better circumstances. I wish you two the very best."

Lady Harriet waited for Colin to finish. She had been perplexed when he had asked her to use the information as an excuse to get the two of them here. She had been about to refuse when he explained what he had in mind. He hadn't wanted to go to their hotel, and showing up at Heathrow before their flight hadn't sounded like a good idea either. She had decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, but had been prepared for him to cock it up and had placed two PC's within easy reach of her office. She was thankful they hadn't been necessary.

"Thank you Inspector Hunt, you are excused," she told him with a nod of approval, "please dismiss PC's Ryan and Mitra on your way out."

Not long after that, Rick and Kate exchanged pleasantries and left, Rick had even graciously signed several books and posed for selfies with various people in the squad room who enjoyed his books. It had been a tense few minutes, but Rick had recovered his composure quickly.

Soon they would be on their way back to New York, with a wanted felon and two of London's Finest in tow. All in all not a bad conclusion to their trip to England.

* * *

_**Author's Note**_

_Next chapter they will be back in New York and things may have taken a turn while they were gone. Their least favorite journalist back to his old tricks..._


	14. Poking The Bear

**Chapter Fourteen  
Poking the Bear**

* * *

" _Now I lay me down to sleep_  
Pray the lord my soul to keep  
If I die before I wake  
Pray the lord my soul to take

Hush little baby, don't say a word  
And never mind that noise you heard  
It's just the beast under your bed,  
In your closet, in your head

Exit light  
Enter night  
Grain of sand

Exit light  
Enter night  
Take my hand  
We're off to never never land"

Metallica: "Enter Sandman"

* * *

_Previously_

_"John Pizer has decided not to fight extradition,." Lady Harriet stated flatly without further preamble._

_"When you updated me the other day, it sounded like he was dead-set on fighting it," Kate replied, shocked, "what changed?"_

_"I don't know," Lady Harriet said, clearly as confused about this turn of events as Kate was. "According to the logs, he had a visitor early this morning for approximately ten minutes, an older man with the proper credentials from his barrister's legal firm, so the cameras were turned off in his cell. Fifteen minutes later, the man was calling out for the guard that he was no longer interested in fighting extradition."_

_Kate looked over at her husband. Though he was silent she could sense that something was going on behind those blue eyes of his. She could sense the wheels turning in the back of his mind as he mulled over this latest piece of information as he tried to digest this new turn of events._

_She would make certain to ask him later if he had any theories as to why a man who had everything to gain by staying in London and a whole hell of a lot to lose by returning to New York, (even if he was cleared of involvement in the current case) would suddenly decide to choose the latter._

* * *

The eight hour flight from London to New York had been largely uneventful.

Though Kate would have preferred that Rick take something to help him sleep through the flight, considering how rough the previous one had been for him, he had been adamant that he remain alert. When she tried to press the issue, he'd actually gotten angry with her.

_"Kate, there is no goddamn way I am_ **sleeping** _on this flight when one of the men who'd had you kidnapped, tortured, and almost killed is_ **ten rows behind us** _in business class on this very same plane!"_

An hour into the flight, after he had stopped sulking, she had managed to get him to compromise and take one of his anti-anxiety pills that Dr. Swann had prescribed for him for long trips when the flight attendant with the in- flight meal came through. Though Kate was concerned for Rick's emotional well-being, she had been secretly glad that he'd stayed awake and relatively alert. She had needed his company to keep her mind occupied.

Doting on her man-child of a husband had kept her amused, even as she feigned being irritated. It had kept her mind from straying down darker paths _because_ of that man ten rows back in business class, flanked by the two former SAS commandos Scotland Yard had sent to remand the prisoner to NYPD custody. She was sure that Rick was doing it on purpose. Sometimes he just knew what she needed, often before she, herself, knew she needed it.

_'That sweet, wonderful man,'_ she thought to herself as she watched him glance out the window, _'and he's married to me'._

Sometimes, even now, she found it hard to believe that she was everything he wanted - all of her flaws and personality defects notwithstanding. That he had forgiven her for all of the times she had stepped on his heart, or pushed him away for so many years, through two boyfriends that torturous summer apart after her shooting, her foolish lies and evasions when she hadn't believed enough in "them" to pull that traitorous foot in the door before he'd proposed. He'd forgiven her for all of it.

That he had not only saved her life nine times at the risk of his own, faced down gun-toting suspects and assassins unarmed, but he had literally clawed his way out of a burning car for her. John Pizer could rot for all she cared, the most important thing in her life (aside from her dad) was sitting in the window seat next to her.

By the time the wheels kissed the tarmac she had made certain that Ryan and Esposito would be the ones to meet them at the airport to collect Pizer. He may have alibied out of the murders, but he would still face justice for his part in what happened to her in that basement. Narcotics might want a piece of him too for the drug angle.

He might even live long enough to breathe free air again before old age claimed him if he turned state's evidence on Bracken, the only deal he could possibly make that she would ever feel good about.

When they cleared customs and TSA, Kate walked up to Pizer flanked by Ryan and Espo and said the last words she ever wanted to speak to him in person.

"John Jonas Pizer, you are under arrest for conspiracy to traffic narcotics, money laundering, kidnapping, conspiracy to commit aggravated assault upon and attempted murder of a police officer. You have the right to remain silent. If you give up the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney. If you cannot afford one an attorney will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights?"

When Pizer nodded his head she allowed the British cops to remove his restraints and applied her own cuffs, before nodding to her boys.

"Take him," she said quietly, her contempt for the man clear in her voice, "get this worthless piece of shit out of my sight. I'm gonna go home and take a long, hot bubble bath with my husband. You can catch me up on the case in the morning."

* * *

**The Next Morning**

A story appeared in the New York Daily Ledger comparing the Washington Heights prostitute murders to those committed by Arthur Shawcross in the late 1980's. Other than the nature of the victims there really hadn't been much of a connection between the two killers, other than in the reporter's fervent imaginings.

_"Jack"_ , however ,had been enraged. Enough to throw things... tear an entire room apart in his home... his inner sanctum, his blood screaming out to commit violence... but... He was his father's son... He had been taught better... He would not act on a whim, not strike in anger. That way was not the message he was put on this earth to send.

He had strayed from the path only once, in a fit of adolescent rebellion. He had gotten into medical school and was proud of his achievements... his family legacy had been a thing of the past and he had advised his sister to steer her own course as well.

She had gone to New York City over a decade ago to pursue the theater, but instead of the lights of Broadway... Nancy had encountered its seedy underbelly. She had gotten hooked on cocaine and turned to the life of a common street whore to get her fix.

He had gone with his father to retrieve her... nursed her back to health, weaned her off the drugs... and when she had been healthy enough to see where she had erred... his father had made him torture her slowly to death with the very knife he carried to this day. It was a fitting punishment for his act of hubris and lack of respect for the family legacy.

They burned her body to ashes in the crematorium and never spoke her name again. Every document bearing her name, including her birth certificate, was destroyed. Every photograph of her from the time she was born, was burned or was edited to remove her. To the family, Nancy Annabelle Kelly had ceased to exist.

He never strayed from the path again. He would, instead make New York howl for this outrage. He would excise the rotten core of _"The Big Apple"_ if it took him his entire life... if he had to kill every whore he could find. He would paint the red light district with blood until the Hudson ran crimson with it.

But he would not be goaded into precipitous action... not deviate from his timetable.

The cycle of bloodshed had no end. He was merely a cog in the great machine. It was not his place to substitute his own agenda for the will of the universe.

He would strike, however... and soon. When he did, the city would know that he was not a child molesting deviant like Arthur _fucking_ Shawcross. He was the left hand of the divine, the instrument of the universe. He was to be feared.

This _"reporter"_ had tried to sully his family's holy cause simply to make money. This could not be allowed to pass unanswered or unchallenged. There was, it seems more than one kind of whore in this city.

An example would need to be made.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's note** Arthur John Shawcross was an American serial killer, also known as the Genesee River Killer in Rochester, New York. He claimed most of his victims between March 18, 1988 and December 28, 1989 (all of them prostitutes) after being paroled early following a conviction in the sexual assault and manslaughter of two children, which led to criticism of the New York State justice system.
> 
> For the anon reviewer who takes issue with my use of the past participle "gotten" in my work (and has made a point of pestering me about it more than once) some food for thought on the subject from the English Language & Usage website:
> 
> As past participles of get, got and gotten both date back to Middle English. The form gotten is not used in British English but is very common in North American English, though even there it is often regarded as non-standard. In North American English, got and gotten are not identical in use. Gotten usually implies the [punctive act /] process of obtaining something, as in he had gotten us tickets for the show, while got implies the state [durative] of possession or ownership, as in I haven't got any money. [Oxford Dictionaries]


	15. To Kill A Mockingbird

**Chapter Fifteen  
To Kill A Mockingbird**

* * *

_"I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds."  
_ J. Robert Oppenheimer quoting the Bhagavad Gita

* * *

_Previously_

_The cycle of bloodshed had no end. He was merely a cog in the great machine. It was not his place to substitute his own agenda for the will of the universe._

_He would strike, however... and soon. When he did, the city would know that he was not a child molesting deviant like Arthur fucking Shawcross. He was the left hand of the divine, the instrument of the universe. He was to be feared._

_This "reporter" had tried to sully his family's holy cause simply to make money. This could not be allowed to pass unanswered or unchallenged. There was, it seems more than one kind of whore in this city._

_An example would need to be made._

* * *

**Major Crime Desk**   
**New York Daily Ledger.**   
**September 25th 7PM**

Sammy Wilson answered the phone at his desk while he was typing up the copy for his next story, the due date to get it to press the following morning was quickly approaching and he needed to get it out. He had spent the better part of the day digging into the John Pizer angle and had again come up against Detective Beckett and her writer husband/partner. They had been sent to London to extradite him.

Richard Castle was a minor celebrity in New York and tying not just him, but the _"real life Nikki Heat"_ to a story virtually guaranteed that copy would sell like crazy. Castle's fans ate it up... especially the weird ones. When his book sales skyrocketed, Black Pawn would thank him later for the free publicity.

 _'Hopefully they won't send that publicist of his,'_ he thought to himself, repressing a shiver, _'that Paula Haas is one scary bitch, Kristina Coterra is_ still _persona non grata in New York, after Haas went after her network with one of his lawyers in tow, last I heard Coterra was still reading the weather Upstate... or something like that.'_

"Metro desk, Wilson speaking,." he said inattentively, most of his focus on the work in front of him.

"You writing the pieces on the whore killings?" the voice on the phone said.

"Yes," he replied, "you have something for me?"

"I might," the voice replied. "I'm the one wielding the knife."

That immediately got Wilson's attention. "How do I know you're for real?"

"Check your cell phone," the voice replied.

He looked at his phone to see a before-and-after photo of each victim, prior to their death, naked and bound, eyes wide open, clearly alive, then one after death. Including an image of the survivor, Detective Hastings - no photos of _her_ from the incident could be found... _anywhere_. Whomever the 12th Precinct had doing their I.T. work was good. He had tried everything he could think of to get a shot of her, even his source in the precinct couldn't get them. The thin blue line had closed ranks to protect the modesty and reputation of one of its own. It would have been the perfect cap to his story, too.

"Meet me in central park. In front of the obelisk... come alone... you'll get your exclusive" the voice on the phone replied.

"What do I call you?" Williams asked.

"You can call me... _Jack_."

Williams jotted down the name, and the meeting place on his blotter, grabbed his coat and headed out... salivating over the thought of getting an exclusive straight from the mouth of the Washington Heights Ripper. He could see the headlines now...

Little did Samuel Wilson know that not only would he never get to write that story, he would never write anything again.

* * *

**September 26th**

Detective Grant Sully arrived at the crime scene in central park to find the body of a man hanging upside down by his knees from the playground swing-set. Perlmutter was examining the suspended body as he approached. The victim's shirt was open and his abdomen was split open from the waistband of his pants to the bottom of his sternum. His eyes stared out into nothing as if begging for an end to his suffering... an end that only his death had provided.

 _"This one is nearly as bad as that hooker Ann and I got called out to a few weeks ago... before..."_ Sully thought to himself. He didn't allow himself to follow that train of thought, however, lest it take him to a place he didn't wish to go now that his partner - and her unborn baby- were safe.

 _'She'll kick my ass for thinking like that though... She'll think it's sweet... but she'll still kick my ass,'_ he thought to himself before looking down at the body hanging from the swing-set again and regretted it. _'Thank god I skipped breakfast...I think I'm gonna be sick'_

"What do we have, Sydney?" Sully asked.

Most people would have received either a derisive snort, an acerbic remark, or both from Sydney Perlmutter at the use of his first name, but for some reason he had taken a liking to Sully. Some figured it was because Sully was soft-spoken and didn't ask unnecessary questions, but most people who had been with the 12th Precinct for more than a few years knew the truth of it.

Perlmutter _really_ disliked Richard Castle, and only put up with him because his job required it. Grant Sully's initial arrival at the 12th Precinct after Beckett had left for the FBI had heralded Richard Castle's departure (at least temporarily) and so Sully had caught the man in a rare good mood on his first day.

Though Perlmutter and Sully would never be drinking buddies, the two of them had developed an easier working relationship than Sydney had shared with most of the homicide squad room, Beckett included. Though he had heard that Sydney had been rather fond of Castle's daughter, of all people, in a curmudgeonly awkward sort of way.

' _Is there no one that redhead can't charm?'_ he thought absently to himself, before returning his attention to the business at hand.

"Caucasian male," Perlmutter began, "five foot six, approximately one hundred twenty pounds. According to the driver's license in his wallet, and the press pass from _"The Ledger,_ his name is Samuel Wilson."

"Isn't he the one who wrote those op-ed pieces that almost got Beckett in trouble?" Sully asked.

"I wouldn't know, I don't read the gossip rags," Perlmutter replied, "I certainly have no interest in second-hand knowledge or gossip about Beckett's marriage. I get enough of that working with Dr. Parish."

"Now if you don't mind, I have a job to do, I'm a medical examiner not a gossip columnist," Perlmutter harrumphed before picking up where he left off, feet and ankles hog-tied with piano wire to secure his knees to the top cross member of the swing. Throat was slit from ear to ear. Cut so deep the knife used struck bone. I would guess cause of death to be exsanguination given the amount of blood soaked into the ground. His disembowelment seems to have been carried out either post-mortem or very close to his time of death."

"Somebody _really_ didn't like this guy," Sully remarked.

"Quite likely," Perlmutter stated acerbically, "but I will leave that up to you to determine, Detective. _'Why'_ is your job. Full rigor is in effect, so I would tentatively place his time-of-death at early last night, after eight but no later than nine P.M.."

"If this were a female prostitute, I'd say we had another one for Beckett," Sully replied, "It certainly is gruesome, like the guy she's chasing."

"Possibly, but I've given you all I can here," Perlmutter stated, motioning for the lab techs to cut the body down for transport, "I'll have more for you when I get back to the lab."

" _I may not have much love for Defective Castle, but I'm glad his daughter isn't here to see this,'_ Perlmutter thought to himself as he zipped the body bag closed, _'Alexis has been through enough lately, poor kid.'_

Sully took possession of the man's personal effects including his cell phone. He would have Tory take it apart and find any information it contained, the rest he would sign into evidence personally. Since that business with Dr. Kelly Nieman, everybody at the 12th was being extra careful when it came to evidence collection, storage and retrieval. Gates had made it a priority.

* * *

**Bookstore across the street**

_Jack_ had watched the crime scene from the Starbucks in the bookstore with some interest. Though the pretty blonde detective... Hastings... had not made an appearance, her partner had.

 _'Good...very good,'_ he thought to himself, unable to ignore the doctor in him, _'they should not be letting pregnant women do this sort of thing, it is demoralizing and the stress is bad for their pregnancy.'_

He did find it comical that they had a detail on her, as if she was still in danger. He held no ill-will against her. If he had he would have killed her when he had her in his possession. She was in no more danger from him that she would be in her own home. She had served her purpose to him, he was very specific about his prey. He had only been sidetracked further from his mission because that blasphemer needed to be silenced.

He knew they would eventually figure out that this was his handiwork, it was only a matter of time. He knew how smart detective Beckett was, her closure rate was second to none in the department. He would need to finish his work here in New York and move on for a time. His wife and children would need the guidance of his own hand as they grew older. They were his responsibility, not his mother's or father's. He must mold the next left hand of the divine that one of them would become, like his father and grandfather had done before whilst carrying on the family legacy. Until it was time for one of them to deliver the message of the divine until the world finally woke up.

History would one day vindicate him and his family.

He had met Jerry Tyson once six months ago... not long before returning to New York. Him and that devil's seed Kelly Nieman. They had told him everything they knew about Kate Beckett, Richard Castle and her team.

Jerry had been difficult at first, prideful and arrogant, but had become most informative after he had started cutting off body parts. Nieman, he had let stew, listening to Tyson scream for the three days he had tortured him before cutting his throat. He rested for another day... leaving her in absolute silence. She begged and pleaded but in the end had told him everything she knew as well.

He would have made her end quick and clean, but she had made the mistake of propositioning him, offering her body to him to let her go. He treated her like he did any whore after that.

She died screaming.

Their bodies would never be found, he had made sure of that. He'd used a bobcat to bury the single entrance and entombed them forever in the dark, empty, forgotten bomb shelter in Virginia where they had met their end at his hands. He'd felt unclean just being around them, but he had done the world a favor.

From what he had learned from the two of them, Tyson had made two mistakes. The first was a matter of methodology, he thought he was smarter and better than the police, that they were beneath him. He had no respect. The second was going after Beckett and Castle directly. Tyson had allowed it to become personal and lost perspective. Likely because he had no real goal to begin with.

He would not make those mistakes like Tyson and Nieman had. He was a patient man with a specific agenda and no intention of starting a war with the NYPD that he knew he would lose. It was why Ann Hastings was still alive, and had no reason to fear ever seeing him again.

Tomorrow night he would be back to the Universe's work. The work he had been born for.

He would once again be going hunting, but first, he had a gift for Detective Beckett and her husband. They had a right to know that a certain pair of rabid dogs would not be shitting on their lawn again.

* * *

 **Castle Loft** **  
****Later that Evening**

Alexis arrived home after a short day on campus, as there were no night classes on Friday, and she really didn't want to go out with her friends she had come home to have dinner. She'd called ahead so that Kate and Dad would know she was coming. She didn't need a repeat of what she'd seen the Friday they had come home from London. She was going to need a lifetime of brain bleach to get the memory of the two of them on the kitchen table out of her head. Kate hadn't been able to look her in the eye all last weekend.

Eduardo had stopped her at the door with a package that had arrived by messenger addressed to her dad with no return address after they had arrived and she'd grabbed it to take with her. Without a second thought she'd begun opening it, she had opened her dad's fan mail for him since she had turned thirteen. The two of them had always made a game of it. She had never realized before that he'd had it screened beforehand though. To keep the more... radical... things his fans sent from her eyes. Obviously Paula had a list.

She had just gotten her key in the lock when she got the box open, looked at the contents inside and began screaming Her loud frightened shrieks as she dropped the box brought her father and Kate (with her weapon drawn) from his study.

Inside the box were two preserved human hands. One male, one female.

Kate called it in and CSU was sent to the loft, Castle had drawn Alexis into his office and was doing his level best to comfort her as Kate directed the lab techs to take the box. One of them found a note addressed to her written in very precise calligraphy which they bagged to preserve any fingerprints, but allowed her to read.

_Detective Beckett,_

_This "professor" the whores spoke of was a fool's errand borne of their own selfish and degenerate inclinations. You thought yourselves clever and on the right track, yet they and the scum they work for played you for a fool._

_That the papers have compared my righteous work to the flailings of that degenerate mongrel child murderer Arthur Shawcross infuriates me. Mine is not the work of a whore monger, or a degenerate. I am on a mission and shall not stop until I am done delivering my message._

_You will soon hear of me again. My knife is sharp and I intend to continue the work my Great-grandfather started as my father did before me. As he began in London, and my father in Chicago, so shall I continue here in New York, and on and on until the cancer of sin is purged._

_Please accept this small token of my respect to you and to your husband. You will find that they are the right hands of Jerry Tyson and Kelly Nieman. They have been preserved so you should be able to verify this by checking their fingerprints. The two of them will never trouble you or your family again._

_I am not a monster, but like them, by necessity, I have become death._

_Jack_

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's note** In 1965 J. Robert Oppenheimer (the lead researcher of "The Manhattan Project" at Los Alamos in World War Two) was asked about his reaction to the trinity tests of the Atomic Bomb and he said the following:
> 
> We knew the world would not be the same. A few people laughed, a few people cried. Most people were silent. I remembered the line from the Hindu scripture, the Bhagavad Gita; Vishnu is trying to persuade the Prince that he should do his duty and, to impress him, takes on his multi-armed form and says, 'Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.' I suppose we all thought that, one way or another.
> 
> Anybody who can find the "Dragon Age" and Star Trek references in the last chapter and this one deserves a cookie.


	16. Back In Battery

**Chapter Sixteen  
Back In Battery**

* * *

" _May your choices have better results than mine._ _  
_ _Remembered_ not _as a messenger._ _  
_ _Remembered not as a reformer._ _  
_Not _as a prophet..._ not _as a hero..._ _  
_ _Not even as Sebastian._ _  
_ _Remembered only as..._ Jack _._ _"_

Sebastian (aka Jack the Ripper) Babylon 5 _episode "Comes the Inquisitor" (1995)_

* * *

_Previously  
_

_Alexis had just gotten her key in the lock when she got the box open, looked at the contents inside and began screaming. Her loud frightened shrieks as she dropped the box brought her father and Kate (with her weapon drawn) from his study._

_Inside the box were two preserved human hands. One male, one female._

_Kate called it in and CSU was sent to the loft, Castle had drawn Alexis into his office and was doing his level best to comfort her as Kate directed the lab techs to take the box. One of them found a note addressed to her written in very precise calligraphy which they bagged to preserve any fingerprints, but allowed her to read._

_Detective Beckett,_

_This "professor" the whores spoke of was a fool's errand borne of their own selfish and degenerate inclinations. You thought yourselves clever and on the right track, yet they and the scum they work for played you for a fool._

_That the papers have compared my righteous work to the flailings of that degenerate mongrel child murderer Arthur Shawcross infuriates me. Mine is not the work of a whore monger, or a degenerate. I am on a mission and shall not stop until I am done delivering my message._

_You will soon hear of me again. My knife is sharp and I intend to continue the work my Great-grandfather started as my father did before me. As he began in London, and my father in Chicago, so shall I continue here in New York, and on and on until the cancer of sin is purged._

_Please accept this small token of my respect to you and to your husband. You will find that they are the right hands of Jerry Tyson and Kelly Nieman. They have been preserved so you should be able to verify this by checking their fingerprints. The two of them will never trouble you or your family again._

_I am not a monster, but like them, by necessity, I have become death._

_Jack_

* * *

It had taken most of the night for Rick to get Alexis settled down. She had interned in the Medical Examiner's office, but Lanie and Perlmutter had, by unspoken agreement, kept her away from the more grisly cases that had come their way. When cases like that had turned up, Lanie had made a point of assigning her to do research or catalog personal effects, like she'd done during the Boylen Place bombing or after he and Kate had been sent plunging into the Hudson in her crown Vic. Rick wasn't sure if that had been a good idea or not.

Rick had found Monkey Bunkey on the bookshelf by her desk and slipped it under her arm after he had checked under her bed for monsters (at her insistence) and she'd drifted off to sleep, her hands firmly clasping his. It broke his heart to see her this upset. Shattered him in ways he never wanted to contemplate.

His experiences with Kate had shown him, despite Alexis' repeated protests to the contrary, that her experience in Paris during her freshman year, which he had always suspected had been just below the surface was rearing its head anew. Seeing the grisly "gift" that the killer calling himself _"Jack"_ had left for Kate where his daughter would find it had brought everything to the surface.

Alexis seemed so small and vulnerable curled up in her bed clutching his arm tightly as she'd drifted off to sleep, like she had when she was little and had woken from a bad dream. Only now she was too old to crawl into bed with him. She was twenty and a grown woman now, but in Rick's heart, he still saw his little girl, the tiny child he'd been handed in a pink blanket twenty years ago. The four year old who had gotten lost in the mall, his little pumpkin who had always looked up at him with her pale blue eyes and unerringly trusted him to keep the monsters away.

At times like this, he wanted to wrap her in cotton and keep her safe with him forever.

 _"This... person has violated our home, and twisted up my baby girl."_ He thought to himself, feeling the anger start to rise in him. An unfeeling rage he hadn't felt since Kate had gone missing. _"He's tormenting my wife and my daughter in our own home." The_ idea repeated over and over in his head as his anger grew... before it leveled out... he felt that anger turn to something darker, awakening something primal and deadly in his psyche that only a father or a man in love could understand.

When he finally descended the stairs after drawing the blinds in her room having left the door open a crack in case she woke up and needed him again, he found Kate sitting on the couch wringing her hands, her face contorted in guilt and grief.

"He knows where we live, Castle," she breathed, the terrors of her own past coming back to haunt her. "He'd waited 'til we were in the loft... before... delivering that... so we wouldn't see him. So Alexis would..." She trailed off, straining to bite back a sob and blinking back tears.

Rick sat down next to his wife and pulled her into his lap, his arms wrapped tightly around her. For so long since the accident _Kate_ had been the strong one. The one to hold him and their family together, but her threshold had been reached. The world had simply pushed Katherine Houghton Beckett Castle that one bridge too far and she had begun to crumble.

Rick was not surprised to note that she actually seemed to feel guilty about it.

"It's okay, Kate...let go...I've got you... it's all right." he soothed, stroking his fingers through her chestnut hair as the last of her resolve slowly fell apart and she came undone in his arms. She had been like this during, but mostly after Alexis' kidnapping too. He'd seen it in her eyes after he had emerged from that bedroom after he'd tortured the getaway driver and again after it was all over.

He'd known since Kate's own experience with torture, and the end of Bracken's case, that so many of Kate's emotions were closer to the surface than they used to be. Her walls were not nearly so formidable now and as such, things like this overwhelmed her much more easily.

He decided to himself that he had been on the sidelines for far too long, leaving Kate to shoulder the burden of holding their new family together alone. He felt that it was long past time for him to step up and take his share of the weight of the world off of her slender shoulders and carry his half of the load.

* * *

**September 29th**

He had been watching and waiting for days, as the police presence in Washington Heights began to wane. Crime had not stopped in New York City while the streets here had been flooded with cops. With no fresh leads, no new slayings in well over a week, not to mention the one man they _had_ been able to get a lead on in custody and alibied out, the media had begun to lose interest and with the media went the city politicians.

Once that happened, the manpower had slowly, but inexorably been redirected elsewhere.

He knew eventually that this would happen. He was a patient man and it really had only been a matter of time. They were just whores after all.

Once John Pizer ( a.k.a. _"The Professor"_ ) had been taken off the street the crime bosses whose sole motivation had been wanting him gone, the limited amnesty to cooperate with the police they had offered had been quietly rescinded with predictable results. The street walkers had shut their mouths and gone back to peddling their bodies on the street corners just like his twin sister had.

Though his parents had disowned her, disavowed her like she'd never existed, he could not so easily turn his back on the girl who had shared a womb with him. They had shared a connection that even their parents had not fully understood.

The first time he'd cut Nancy, he'd seen the hurt and betrayal in her eyes. Eyes that matched his own. He would never, ever get the sound of her screaming out of his head, nor the silence when she was gone, and he had closed her sightless eyes, the only kindness that father had permitted him to show her.

He'd _tried_ to shove her memory into a box, _tried_ to ignore the empty space where his twin sister had been, the deep chasm of guilt for having to be the one to sever that connection – forever. Every time he walked these streets, saw these whores plying their illicit trade on these corners every night he saw Nancy, his heroin-addicted twin sister on this same corner, selling her body for that next hit and it fueled his rage.

Every whore he killed, he'd hoped would drown out the pain-filed shrieks of his twin sister in his head, but to no avail. He would make every whore who crossed his path scream. He'd kill as many of them as he could before he surrendered defiantly to the void.

"You're Nancy's brother, aintcha?" A woman's voice said from behind him, making him startle and turn around to face her.

"Yeah, I know you," the woman continued, "Nancy-girl showed me your picture once. Sebastian, right?"

"Yes." he replied, his fingers behind him, stroking the grip of his great grandfather's knife.

"You won't find her here, she got in a car for a party two years ago and never came back. Happens in this town every day." She said wistfully.

"I know." He replied.

She turned to go back to her corner, but he moved with preternatural speed and plunged the hypodermic needle into her neck, sending the fast-acting muscle relaxant flowing into her system.

He was generally more selective when choosing each victim, he had to be, but this time he'd had no choice but to move quickly. This time, by calling him by name and invoking his sister. _She_ had chosen _him_. In so doing, she had sealed her own fate.

He dragged her the rest of the way into the alley, depositing her on the pavement as the paralyzed hooker stared up at him. He half carried-half dragged the effectively paralyzed woman toward his waiting car, used his remote to pop the trunk when a form caught his eye...He wasn't alone.

It was her.

The woman he'd been keeping an eye out for. The Russian bitch who had stolen two of his kills and the knife appeared in his hand, the light from the street lights glistening on the finely honed hundred year old blade. It took him a split second to decide, before he knelt down and slashed the blade across the young prostitute's throat, silencing her forever for _daring_ to speak Nancy's name.

He knew that the Russian woman had seen him when she bolted and he took up the chase, determined that she would not escape him this time.

* * *

**That Same Moment**

Elena Markhova had rounded the corner into this block of Washington Heights to make the final kill in her contract with Bracken. He had wanted to add Kate Beckett to the list...again but she had declined...again. The former senator from New York had a one-track mind when it came to the woman who had ruined his political career.

She was not going to invite the trouble into her life that killing a cop would bring. _'Especially a cop with a wealthy, world-famous husband'_ she thought to herself. She might as well hang a sign around her neck that said _"ARREST ME"_ and walk into a police precinct for all the heat doing that would bring. Nobody would ever hire her again, that kind of heat never died down. In her world it did _not_ pay to be infamous. She was one of the best at what she did, not the most well-known, and she wanted to keep it that way.

After this one last kill, another street prostitute named Elizabeth Stride, she would be able to bid New York goodbye for a while. Her _"go bag"_ was packed and waiting in a locker at Penn Station. She'd take the morning train to Albany then a short commuter flight to Toronto.

She had a Canadian passport in her jacket pocket under the name Catherine Eddowes, and three more waiting for her in a locker at Toronto's Pearson International Airport. Everything she needed to change her appearance was waiting in the hotel she had booked there. She had made enough money working for Bracken over the past year and a half that she could afford to disappear for a while. Do something for herself for a change.

Maybe, just for fun, she'd mail the fake badge and the gun used to kill Vulcan Simmons to the 12th Precinct after she was safely over the border, let Kate Beckett do with them what she will. By the time Bracken got out of prison he would do well to make himself disappear. He had enough enemies and burned friends to make his life interesting for the rest of his life.

She had arrived at Stride's usual corner and her innate sense for danger warned her that something was amiss. The traffic of Johns into the red light district had been particularly light the last two weeks due in no small part to the visibly increased police presence in the area, so it struck her as odd that her target would be missing from the corner she'd staked out with nary a John in sight.

Her eyes were moving, and her head was on a swivel when she caught sight of a shadow in one of the alleyways dragging what looked like a body. She didn't have to get any closer to know it was _him_... she could feel it deep in her bones, in that small shadowed place in her psyche that was still a little girl afraid of the dark. She knew he had seen her, when she saw the flash of steel and the spurt of blood in the lamplight. When he rose from his handiwork and turned in her direction, she knew without question that he'd seen her, and that she had gone from predator to prey.

Years of practice and training had taught her to control her breathing, to control her fear. To use that adrenaline to keep her alive and not let it master her.

She knew she could not just run, nor could she go to the police or hole up in her hotel room. He had a car and would only follow her and she would be trapped. That left her with two options: She could stand and fight... here... on ground of _his_ choosing. She had a gun and her knife and knew how to use both, but the chance of being cornered between him and the police still in the area was too great.

Or she could let him follow her to more neutral ground of her own choosing so she could level the playing field. Make _him_ play to _her_ strengths.

Her second option was more appealing, not to mention tactically sound. She would lead him on a merry chase, but not so circuitous a route that he could not follow. When she found a location she liked, she would engage him.

One Hour Later

Elena could feel the stirrings of fear in her belly, fear the likes of which she had not experienced since she had been a twelve- year- old street urchin in Moscow after her parents had turned her out when she'd failed to get into the ballet company. She had been indoctrinated into American culture early on for the job she had been trained for and found she had actually _enjoyed_ the works of Frank Herbert.

 _"I must not fear... fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration"_ she whispered to herself. She felt very exposed here, waiting for _him_ to make his move. This alley was her spot, the best ground she could find. Here she would make her stand. She was done running, it was time to end this once and for all.

_"I will face my fear and let it pass through me..."_

She would never get the chance to finish the Bene Gesserit litany against fear. So intent had she been on controlling her breathing, she had momentarily lost her situational awareness and barely felt the hypodermic needle sink into her neck.

She pulled the gun from the waistband of her jeans, but the fast-acting muscle relaxant already had her hands reacting with all of the dexterity of frozen bananas and the pistol clattered to the pavement shortly after the barrel cleared her belt.

She tried to pull her knife, but lacked the motor control to flip it open and it slipped from her fingers as her arms drooped, her body no longer properly obeying her commands. She stumbled backwards until her back hit the alley wall and she slid down the brick face until she lay crumpled in a heap on the pavement. The last thing she saw as her vision began to tunnel was his face looking down at her. His cold, gray eyes boring into hers before he lifted her effortlessly and deposited her into the trunk of his car.

By the time the trunk was slammed shut, she saw only shadows.

* * *

When Elena regained consciousness, she was nude and bound to a metal exam table. She tested her bindings and found that they were secure with no slack to allow for movement. It took her several minutes to get her breathing and her rising panic under control. She had seen rooms like this in Russia. Torture chambers. Only somebody else had been bound to the table.

She knew what was coming next and steeled herself for it. Turned her heart and mind to stone when he entered the room, a knife in his nitrile glove covered hands.

"You have been very naughty, Miss Eddowes'" he said, showing her the fake NYPD badge, "this belongs to someone else."

Elena opened he mouth to reply, her mouth was dry.

"E-Elena," she choked out in a hoarse whisper, "my name...is...Elena."

She knew this was not going to be an interrogation. He wasn't going to ask her any questions, there was nothing to resist. He was going to kill her slowly, like he had the others, but if she was going to die, she would die under her real name. She was suddenly glad she had spared the life of Kate Beckett, her last thoughts were to hope she got this bastard and sent him straight to hell.

She was determined not to scream, determined not to give this monster any satisfaction, but when the knife first bit into her flesh the pain was so intense that she could not bite it back as it burst from her throat. Her screams echoed from the walls until death finally claimed her.

* * *

**September 30th  
7:45 A.M. **

Kate had gotten the call at six in the morning. Given the state she had been in the night before, she'd needed a little more time, with Rick's help, to put her game face back on. When she rolled into the crime scene with Castle in tow, Elizabeth Stride was in full rigor, the single deep slash to her throat bisecting both the carotid artery and the jugular vein.

Her sightless eyes stared up into nothing, her mouth open as if in a silent scream. The cause of death was readily apparent.

The second body was found about an hour later, less than five hundred yards away, It was found in a dumpster covered by a sheet of plastic in a construction site, carved up in a grisly signature that Lanie Parish recognized almost immediately.

"This was definitely our guy's handiwork. There's no identification on her body, but she was found only with this."

Lanie handed her am evidence bag with an NYPD badge in it.

"Lanie, that's my badge number," Kate breathed causing Rick to lay a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

When the plastic sheet was once again drawn away, Kate saw a face she had not sen since a cold night in early spring. The woman who had dispatched Mr. Harten with a single flick of her wrist and saved her life. She would know the woman's face anywhere.

"That's Elena Markhov," Kate breathed as the horror of what had been done to the professional assassin began to sink in. She stepped back from the body as if it was going to rise up and strangle the life out of her. She backed away until she collided with the solid wall of Rick's body ad he caught her before she could lose her balance then guided her from the alley.

He knew this was hard for her, knew she just needed to get a little space from it to gather herself and find her center. He shared a look with Esposito and he took charge of the scene with a nod of his head as he handed out the marching orders for the uniforms to get the canvas under way.

Kate was Javier Esposito's boss, but first and foremost she was a fellow cop, the sister he never had. Their bond was beyond brotherhood, beyond friendship, beyond the badges they both wore. He and Ryan were her solid right hand (consider revising) when she needed them, and Rick was grateful that they had included him in that circle.

They would take care of the crime scene, make sure everything ran smoothly until Kate was herself again and could take charge, to him, as her husband and her partner was the task they had never truly shared with anyone else. He would take care of her as Ryan and Espo knew that only he could.

He was on the phone with Gates before he'd even gotten her to the car securing her permission to get Kate away from the precinct for a few days. After the incident at the loft. Kate needed to decompress... needed to take a step back from the case, at least for the weekend to get some perspective. The Hamptons would be perfect, the forecast was unseasonably warm this weekend.

His second call was to his mother, telling her to see to Alexis, pack herself and Kate a bag, call the car service and meet them in the Hamptons. The entire Castle family was getting out of the city for the weekend. He would call Jim as soon they got there.

They were halfway across Long Island on the L.I.E. before Kate stirred in the passenger seat and realized where they were going. Though Rick hadn't driven a car since the accident, and it made his hands shake, his heart race and his knuckles white the entire drive, in his mind it had to be done.

Kate had opened her mouth to protest only once, and he'd had her call Captain Gates, who promptly ordered her to take the weekend and not be back until Tuesday morning when most of the lab work was expected back. Ryan and Esposito could handle the legwork until then.

Only after Kate had gotten off the phone did it actually hit her that Rick was _driving_.

His knuckles white, his face pale and his eyes intent on the road ahead of him. He had piled her into the car and without a second thought did the one thing he had been afraid to do since he had crawled out of his burning Mercedes those many months ago, he had faced down his fear and put it aside because he loved her.

" _He's sweet on you, it makes him brave._ _"_

Though that statement had come out of the mouth of Vulcan Simmons years ago, truer words had never been spoken.

* * *

_****Author's note** Another long one. Hope you guys don't mind. If I want to clear 50K I need to make with the words. I'm showing more of Jack's twisted truly creepy side. The conflict that made him who he is. More to come.** _

_**For those of you who have asked me, or pointed it out in your reviews, yes I have heard that there has been a breakthrough in the Jack The Ripper case. No I have not read it, and no it will not be a factor in this story, as I have already gone too far into the story to change my character's background for a potential suspect who can really only be tied to one of the murders. But I do thank you for your interest and input! :-)** _

**To Kimmiesjoy: Deeper into the woods we go. I hope this doesn't give you too many nightmares.**


	17. Decompression

**Chapter Seventeen**   
**Decompression**

* * *

Dancing bears, painted wings  
Things I almost remember  
And a song someone sings  
Once upon a December

Someone holds me safe and warm  
Horses prance through a silver storm  
Figures dancing gracefully  
Across my memory

Deanna Carter "Once Upon A December"  
(written by Lynn Ahrens and Stephen Flaherty)

* * *

_Previously_

_Rick was on the phone with Gates before he'd even gotten her to the car, securing her permission to get Kate away from the precinct for a few days. After the incident at the loft. Kate needed to decompress... needed to take a step back from the case, at least for the weekend to get some perspective. The Hamptons would be perfect, the forecast was unseasonably warm this weekend._

_His second call was to his mother, telling her to see to Alexis, pack herself and Kate a bag, call the car service and meet them in the Hamptons. The entire Castle family was getting out of the city for the weekend. He would call Jim as soon they got there._

_They were halfway across Long Island on the L.I.E. before Kate stirred in the passenger seat and realized where they were going. Though Rick hadn't driven a car since the accident, and it made his hands shake, his heart race and his knuckles white the entire drive, in his mind it had to be done._

_Kate had opened her mouth to protest only once, and he'd had her call Captain Gates, who promptly ordered her to take the weekend and not be back until Tuesday morning when most of the lab work was expected back. Ryan and Esposito could handle the legwork until then._

_Only after Kate had gotten off the phone did it actually hit her that Rick was driving._

_His knuckles white, his face pale and his eyes intent on the road ahead of him. He had piled her into the car and without a second thought did the one thing he had been afraid to do since he had crawled out of his burning Mercedes those many months ago, he had faced down his fear and put it aside because he loved her._

_"He's sweet on you, it makes him brave."_

_Though that statement had come out of the mouth of Vulcan Simmons years ago, truer words had never been spoken._

* * *

Kate didn't feel right about stepping away from the case, especially not with two fresh bodies dumped in their laps, but Gates had made her views on the matter abundantly clear on the phone during their drive to Southampton.

"Detective, CSU informed me of the incident at your home, and your reaction to the Eddowes/ Markhov crime scene. At the moment you're a little too close to this, too raw. I never thought I would find myself deferring to your partner," (even now, after everything, Gates still couldn't keep the subtle air quotes out of her voice when she called him that, despite supporting his position) "when it came to police business, but in this case his judgment is sound. Take the weekend and get some distance, look after your family. There is nothing going on at this end you would not have assigned to Ryan and Esposito anyway. From what I hear, Miss Castle needs the two of you more than this case does."

With that, Kate knew she had been outmaneuvered. Rick had obviously spoken to Gates, and in the aftermath of her last undercover stint, she knew that he was no longer above fighting dirty where the Captain was concerned. He had leverage with Victoria Gates he had never held before and when it came to her well-being he was no longer afraid to use it.

Between her husband, her captain and Lanie she had no traction whatsoever and she knew it. She could fight, be stubborn and recalcitrant, get into her patrol car in the morning go right straight back to the city and go rogue, (part of her longed to do just that, sit on her desk and stare at the murder board till she couldn't see straight) or she could take the gift her husband had given her, get her head on straight and come at the case with fresh eyes on Tuesday.

The victims of this case deserved her best effort, not the sleep-deprived, over-caffeinated flailing she was contemplating. _Jack_ , if that was even his real name, wasn't going anywhere. If he held true to his pattern, he wouldn't strike again for several weeks. She had time to take proper care of herself and her family. To make sure Rick and Alexis would be okay.

She turned and looked at Rick as he slept (dreamlessly she hoped) beside her, an arm draped limply over her waist. The drug induced sleep from the sleeping pill he'd had to take to relax after the two-hour drive had given his face the cherubic appearance of a lost little boy and her features softened when the enormity of what he'd done finally struck home.

He'd taken her keys and slid behind the wheel without so much as a second thought about what that act might cost him, just like when he'd dragged himself out of his burning car and clawed his way up out of the ravine that day last May. The drive out to the beach house had been the first time he'd been behind the wheel of a car since he'd been forced off the road, and on top of that, he had driven the exact same route he'd taken the day he'd nearly died.

From what little she'd recalled from the drive out here, his eyes had never left the road, and his knuckles on the wheel had been bone white. The drive must have been hell for him, but he did it anyway because he loved her, and he knew she needed it, his own needs and phobias be damned.

"What did I ever do to deserve you?" she whispered, brushing the hair from his face and pressing a soft, gentle kiss to his forehead.  Yes, she would check in with the boys every day and keep tabs on the case, but she would stay with him.

Rick had paid too high a price to give her this time to decompress. For her to run back to work now, no matter how badly she wanted to, would mean he put himself through hell for nothing and she loved him too much to do that to him.

After about an hour of watching him sleep, Kate slipped out of bed to get herself a cup of hot chocolate. As she crept past the door to Alexis' room, she heard moans and whimpers coming from the girl's bedroom.

"No...please...don't hurt him...please..." "Please daddy...stay with me... please don't die...please..."

Kate yanked open her door and swept into her room, her heart shattering into a million pieces to see Alexis' red hair flashing back and forth as she tossed and turned in the throes of her nightmare. Kate sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled Alexis into her arms, stroking her hair and whispering soothing nonsense words into her ear until the young redhead startled awake and gripped her shirt as she sobbed uncontrollably.

"Shh... it's okay...it was just a dream...shh..." Kate soothed as she ran her fingers through Alexis terra-cotta hair and rubbed gentle circles on her back.

When Alexis' breathing began to even out, Kate helped her slide back under the covers and began to rise, but Alexis reached out and grabbed her wrist.

"Please...don't go..." Alexis pleaded, her expression hollowed out and eyes wide with terror, "I... I don't want to be alone."

Kate was torn. She didn't want to leave Alexis alone, but she was also worried about what Rick would think if he woke alone in the morning. She didn't want him to think, even for a moment, that she had left them to run back to the city... to the case, but Alexis needed her. She hadn't seen the girl this terrified since the New Amsterdam Bank and Trust robbery.

She asked herself quietly what Rick would do in this situation and the answer was clear. He would choose Alexis, so she swung her legs onto the bed and under the covers, wrapping her arms protectively around Rick's daughter to keep her safe while she slept until her father was able.

Shortly after she felt Alexis breathing even out as she settled, Kate drifted off to sleep herself hoping she was doing the right thing.

**October 1st  
6:35 A.M.**

Rick woke with a start.

He reached across the bed for Kate and she wasn't there. Her side of the bed had long since gone cold. For a few quiet but tense moments he hoped she would come strolling into the room in only his shirt with two cups of coffee like she had on their first morning as a couple. To his great dismay, there was no sound of her padding up the hallway anytime soon.

He wanted desperately to believe she would not have run back to the city as soon as he was completely asleep. He knew that she had been resistant to coming out here with him while Jack (if that was even his real name) was still on the loose. Gates had been forced to make it an order to stay out of the precinct for nearly a week.

Rick knew his wife like few men alive besides her father . Even Roy had never been able to compel her to stand down from a case for as long as Gates had ordered her to. He loved Kate to bits, worshiped the very ground she walked upon, but he knew without question, just how stubborn his wife could be in the pursuit of justice. Even when her own health suffered for it.

Castle rose from bed on shaky legs, slowly resigning himself to the possibility that she had risen early and departed for the city, while trying to pin his flagging hopes that on the equally likely scenario that she had simply gone out for an early morning run.

When he exited their bedroom he noticed that Alexis' door was open.

Ever since Paris, Alexis had always been careful to close her door, made sure the outer doors and windows wherever she stayed were securely locked. There were times he wondered if his daughter was even aware she was doing it.

He knew that Alexis was in crisis after opening the box with Tyson and Nieman's hands inside.It had reopened old wounds, or exacerbated still open ones.

If it hadn't been for the fact that Alexis had found the grisly evidence of their demise and it hadn't upset her so, he would have been tempted to find their graves and dance on them. In his heart he truly believed that it couldn't have happened to a nicer pair and that this was likely "Jack's" only true contribution to society. God help him, part of him was happy they were dead, though he would have liked to have done the deed himself, at least with Tyson... with his bare hands if necessary.

Tyson or not, though, it made him sick that he was happy about the death of another human being in what was likely a very brutal manner given their killer's tendencies. His search for Kate would have to wait, though. His baby girl needed him and that trumped all other considerations. When he walked into Alexis' room, he was completely floored. Alexis lay curled up, sleeping peacefully, wrapped securely in the protective embrace of his sleeping wife, Kate Beckett Castle in full mama-bear mode, extraordinary even in slumber.

He was simultaneously both touched that Kate would do this for his daughter, and consumed by guilt that he had ever doubted her. The sight of them moved him to tears before he ambled out into the corridor, carefully closing Alexis' door behind him.

He'd go take a shower and let them sleep a little longer. Neither of them had slept well lately. He was content to know that his little family would be safely under one roof as soon as Jim arrived later that day. They would take the next few days to come together as a family, bind up their collective wounds and gather themselves for the fight ahead.

Until then, he would take a shower, get dressed and get started on breakfast.

**Meanwhile, in Manhattan**

Sebastian had watched with great interest the effect of his "gift" upon Kate Beckett and her husband. He felt regret that Castle's daughter had found and opened the package. That had been an unintended consequence. The bicycle messenger he had hired to deliver it had been fifteen minutes late in his arrival at the Broome Street apartment complex due to downtown traffic. He'd wanted it to arrive moments before Beckett and her husband did, and recognized that he should have addressed it more carefully as well. It was not a mistake he would make again and the long-term effect this would have on his plans was uncertain at best.

Though it had still had the desired effect of throwing Detective Beckett and her partner off-balance, giving him enough freedom of movement to select his next targets, he regretted traumatizing the girl in the process. From what little he had been able to determine, Alexis Castle was a well-adjusted young woman of good character. He was a father himself and it troubled him greatly.

It was a shame, really. She reminded him of Sally, his own daughter.

Sally meant the world to him. She was a first-year resident in medical school and he had gone to great lengths to shield her from the family legacy. That would be her younger brother's mantle to bear when the time came, just like it was now his.

It made him proud that she was taking up the profession he had been forced to walk away from.

Now that the police were suitably distracted, he could move his torture chamber from the abandoned mortuary to his newer location in the recently closed down clinic in Queens. It would take him a few weeks to get settled and then the work would continue after a brief reprieve.

Soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's note** About a week or so after I wrecked my car in wet snow, my brother Chris helped me find a replacement and dropped it off for me in the parking lot where I work. I remember quite clearly the first time I got back behind the wheel. The weather conditions were virtually identical to the ones in which I wrecked the last one so it was a slow white-knuckle ride all the way home, that part comes from my direct experience. It got better.


	18. Decompression Part 2

**Chapter Eighteen**   
**Decompression Part Two**

* * *

_When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears_   
_When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears_   
_And I held your hand through all of these years_   
_But you still have all of me_

Evanescence: "My Immortal"

* * *

_Previously_

_Rick's search for Kate would have to wait, though. His baby girl needed him and that trumped all other considerations. When he walked into Alexis' room, he was completely floored. Alexis lay curled up, sleeping peacefully, wrapped securely in the protective embrace of his sleeping wife, Kate Beckett Castle in full mama-bear mode, extraordinary even in slumber._

_He was simultaneously both touched that Kate would do this for his daughter, and consumed by guilt that he had ever doubted her. The sight of them moved him to tears before he ambled out into the corridor, carefully closing Alexis' door behind him._   
  
_He'd go take a shower and let them sleep a little longer. Neither of them had slept well lately. He was content to know that his little family would be safely under one roof as soon as Jim arrived later that day. They would take the next few days to come together as a family, bind up their collective wounds and gather themselves for the fight ahead._   
  
_Until then, he would take a shower, get dressed and get started on breakfast._

* * *

**8:00 A.M.**

Sebastian was fuming.

Sally had called him in tears last night, afraid she'd been ruined. Some piece of trash doctor had groped her in the elevator. She'd fought him off, of course. He had taught her that much, but her grandfather's bedtime stories about what happened to "soiled women" had her in tears. He'd told his father more than once to keep his damn stories to himself, obviously he hadn't listened, and now she was frightened.

Father never mentioned Nancy or himself by name, of course, but he knew which story it was because he'd had a starring role in it. He spent an hour on the phone with her, soothing her fears whilst simultaneously getting as much information about this "Dr. Samuels" as he could coax out of her. Including the information that he was expected go on a month-long sabbatical starting the next morning. He was unmarried and would not be missed for weeks.

Thankfully the bastard hadn't gone much farther than to touch her inappropriately and ask her rhetorically if she liked it. Told her what would happen to her medical career if she told anyone. That they would have even more fun when he came home. Which had freaked her out even more.

“Little does he know the wrath that's in store for him. A father's righteous fury.” he thought to himself, his face contorted with rage before he schooled his features behind the mask of the mild mannered orderly he showed the world. No one ever saw what lay behind that placid exterior. This piece of shit would certainly not see him coming.

"Jack" would be paying him a visit... tonight. Before the night was over, he would draft a written apology to Sally for his behavior and then he would learn some respect. It would not be brief, and he would not enjoy the lesson, but maybe in his next life he would learn to keep his hands to himself. He would not be ending this one with either of them.

This time of year, it would be weeks before anyone found what was left of him in the Hudson River.

**8:45 AM**   
**The Hamptons**

When Alexis Castle woke up she noticed three things all at once.

First and foremost, she was in her room in the Hamptons beach house. Her brain only partially recalled the ride out in the back of the sedan from the car service, her head in Grams' lap and her father's strong but gentle hands carrying her to her room when they arrived. Second was the light streaming in between the only barely parted curtains. Third, she wasn't alone, a woman's arm was slung protectively around her waist. She didn't have to turn around to know that the arm in question belonged to Kate. She had helped her dad pick out the understated wedding ring she wore to work and would recognize it anywhere.

_“She's still here...she stayed...She really stayed all night,”_ Alexis thought to herself, feeling safe and protected for the first time since her father's accident. Seeing those two hands in the box had simply brought to the fore everything she had been trying to bury for months... years if she was brutally honest with herself. She'd been back in that cage last night...only her captors hadn't died, he father did...his brains splattered all over her clothing in that cage. But Kate had come in her darkest hour, like a Valkyrie to banish that nightmare and held her until she felt safe enough to fall asleep again.

For nearly all of her childhood Alexis had dreamed of a scenario much like this one. Hoped above all things that her mother would change. If she was good enough or perfect enough, Mom would come home one day and care enough to climb into bed with her and chase away the nightmares she'd had with frightening regularity as a child of divorce. Especially the ones she had when staying in Los Angeles with her mother when dad had to go on a long book tour.

Alexis had known from an early age that she came first, at least in Daddy's list of priorities. More than once she had seen the petty jealousy reflected in her own mother's eyes over that, even in recent years. Her father had always done his best to make up for her mother's parenting deficiencies and had kicked more than one foolish woman out of the loft in the middle of the night to tend to her needs.

Kate was the first woman in her father's life who had not just understood that about her father, but accepted it without question. A strange thing started happening after their partnership began. Kate had started making her a priority too, long before she and her dad had gotten together romantically. Even after she had been such a raving bitch last year during her infatuation with Pi.

Soon enough she began to feel guilty though.

_“If Kate stayed with me all night, who was with Dad?”_ she thought to herself, slipping carefully out from under Kate's arm without waking her, noting how absolutely exhausted her stepmother must be to still be in bed this late in the day. Like her, Kate was something of an early riser. Her knowledge of that was something she tried not to examine too closely... because...eww.

She slipped out of bed, pausing for a moment to look down at Kate's sleeping form in her bed as she put on her robe over her pajamas and slid her feet into her slippers before quietly creeping out of the room.

Alexis had poked her head into her father's room long enough to note that he wasn't there before her nose was assaulted with the most wonderful smell of pancakes, eggs and bacon cooking wafting up from the kitchen. Her stomach rumbled and she could not recall the last time she had eaten. The past two nights had been a blur since she'd opened that package.

The closer Alexis got to the kitchen the better the smell of breakfast got and as she turned the corner and caught sight of her dad for the first time that morning. It was a familiar sight from her entire childhood, dad making breakfast, _'and thankfully, not a s'morelet in sight'_ she thought idly, _'though I'd happily choke down a dozen of the vile things if it gave me back the dad I knew before the accident'_

She thought she had been much more stealthy in her entrance, but before she realized it, she had been pulled into her father's arms for a crushing bear hug before she could even register the movement, causing her to yelp in surprise before relaxing into the shelter of her father's broad chest.  
  
Kate had found her way down the stairs, still shaking the sleep out of her eyes.

She had been concerned when she woke and Alexis had been gone, then smelled breakfast cooking. She breathed a sigh of relief when she walked into the kitchen to find the young redhead tucked into her father's side as he flipped the last pancake and plated up breakfast.

She and Castle shared a look, the magnetic pull between the two of them as strong as ever. She could still see the concern in his eyes for both herself and his daughter. It warmed her heart to know that he was comfortable enough in their relationship to go against her stated wishes when he felt the situation warranted. Another of the major differences not just in the nature of their own relationship but between this one and the ones she'd shared with any man before him.

He also knew her well enough to know when, and most importantly, when not to overrule her stubbornness. That he had equal rights to make demands of her in their relationship as she did of him. It had taken four years and a bullet in her chest, but Roy had finally been proven right. Richard Castle was the only man who could make her stand down. It had taken him being willing to walk out on her... twice... To earn that right.

She may not need protecting on the job from the criminals she dealt with every day, but she did sometimes need to be protected from herself and her own worst instincts. He'd managed to prove that to her not long after they had become an item. She hadn't realized how much she needed that until she went to DC.

Something else sprung to mind that Roy had said, the real point he had tried to make once upon a time.

_"We speak for the dead when the wicked have robbed them of their voices, we owe them that, but we don't owe them our lives."_

They were good words, from a good man who's voice should not have been robbed from him by the wicked man who had also taken her mother's, and tried to take hers as well. It was long past time that she listened to them. This wasn't just Rick's family anymore. It was hers now, too. If she owed anyone the rest of her life, it was them.

"So, lover, what smells so delicious this morning?" She said, smiling broadly and stealing a lingering kiss from her man, earning her retching noises from Alexis.

Kate stuck her tongue out at her and kissed him again, being long, slow and deliberate about it.

"Kaaaaaate! Really? I just got my appetite back!" Alexis exclaimed, a hint of mischief in her eyes before pulling away from her father to set her place at the table. Try as she might to needle them, she couldn't hold back the smile on her face as her father dished out the smiley-face pancakes with syrup and a healthy plate-full of scrambled eggs and toast.

She had waited all of her life to have a domestic family moment like this one. Though she may have originally imagined it with her own mother where Kate was sitting now, she wouldn't trade this domestic moment for anything in the world.

"Good morning dear ones! What sumptuous feast has my son prepared for us to greet this fine day?"

Martha exclaimed, having chosen that moment to make her grand entrance, sweeping into the room like the Grand Dame of Broadway that she was, planting a kiss on the top of each of their heads in turn, first Alexis, then Kate and then Rick, sharing a look of concern with her son for the split second her back was turned to the other two occupants of the breakfast table. He shot her a look of his own, before covering for them.

"I'm fine mother, thank you for not asking very loudly." His eyes were hooded, with just a hint of mischief in them to mask his concern for both Kate and Alexis. They were both here, which was a major feat in and of itself, he would give them some time to come to him when they were ready.

Alexis especially, she was holding something back, trying to hide her pain from him, walking on eggshells as if she expected him to break. He would only let that go on for a little while longer. That she was obviously hurting...and trying to hide it...was slowly tearing his heart out.

"Katherine, dear when should we expect that father of yours to put in an appearance?" Martha asked, turning to Kate as if nothing unusual had transpired.

Kate wasn't certain when she had stopped being Kate and became Katherine to Martha, but she used nearly the same inflection when she called Rick, Richard. She began to see where Rick got his distaste for calling Alexis by anything but her full name other than the term of endearment of “Pumpkin”. She had long ago picked up on it and did the same.

She had seen the way Rick cringed when they had picked Alexis up from Columbia once for lunch and he'd heard some of the girls from her study group call her "Lexi" in a tone of voice that had sounded patronizing even to her ears. Though Alexis seemed to have gotten used to it, Kate could tell it rankled her a little, too, she was just a little too polite, or too eager to be liked, to call them on it.

She recalled a few of her own nicknames from her high school and college days, Becks, K-Bex, Kit-Kat (she repressed a shudder at how patronizing the one Rogan had given her sounded even in her head) she could relate.

Kate had noticed over the years that Rick had very few close male friends, even fewer men that he really trusted. (like Kevin and Javi) She had to remind herself that he had grown up without a father in an era that had held little tolerance for the children of unwed mothers. Kate had always been tall and she recalled from her own childhood just how cruel little boys could be... especially to each other.

Suddenly it didn't seem like such an awkward thing for Martha to eschew Kate to call her Katherine. It had meant that Rick's mom considered her to be part of the family.

_“Now if only I could get Martha to meet Dad halfway about baseball..."_ she thought to herself.

 


	19. Decompression Part 3

**Chapter Nineteen**   
**Decompression Part Three**

_“Keep this letter back 'til I do a bit more work, then give it out straight._   
_My knife's so nice and sharp I want to get to work right away if I get a chance._   
_Good Luck. Yours truly_   
_Jack the Ripper”_

From the Infamous “Dear Boss” letter 1888, discounted as a hoax.

* * *

_Previously_

_Kate had noticed over the years that Rick had very few close male friends, even fewer men that he really trusted (like Kevin and Javi). She had to remind herself that he had grown up without a father in an era that had held little tolerance for the children of unwed mothers. Kate had always been tall and she recalled from her own childhood just how cruel little boys could be... especially to each other._

_Suddenly it didn't seem like such an awkward thing for Martha to eschew Kate to call her Katherine. It had meant that Rick's mom considered her to be part of the family._

_“Now if only I could get Martha to meet Dad halfway about baseball..." she thought to herself._

 

* * *

 **Captain Gates' Office** **  
12th Precinct, Homicide Division**

Nobody at the 12th Precinct knew how they had gotten it, but The New York Daily Ledger released the letter from “Jack” two days after the Castle family departed for the Hamptons. The boys had wanted to call Kate immediately to warn her, but Gates ordered them not to, knowing what her lead detective's reaction would be. Kate would storm back to the precinct when it was abundantly clear to anyone who knew her that she needed some time to decompress. Gates was quite certain her own reaction as primary on a case under similar circumstances would not have been substantially different all things being equal.

The only thing, in her mind anyway, that Detective Beckett's premature return to the precinct could possibly have accomplished would have been to set her firmly in the middle of the media feeding frenzy that _“Jack's”_ double murder and the leak of his letter to her had set off. With no new leads since the package with its grisly contents arrived at their loft, and with the other evidence collected still being analyzed, there was no point in exposing one of her detectives to that level of scrutiny when she clearly needed to tend to her family. The media frenzy would have chewed her up and spit her out. As Captain of the 12th, dealing with the jackals of the fourth estate was her job.

If Victoria Gates ever found out who leaked the letter, that person would learn firsthand _precisely_ how she came by the nickname _“Iron Gates”_.

In a press conference she had presided over jointly with Mr. Castle's agent Paula Haas over two hours ago, shortly after the letter's release, Gates confirmed that she had indeed ordered Detective Beckett to take some personal days to see to her family.

* * *

_“A letter allegedly from the killer, calling himself, “Jack” had indeed been hand-delivered to Detective Beckett's home, along with a box containing the severed right hands of a male and female victim who have yet to be positively identified. Whether or not said letter is genuine has also yet to be determined.”_

* * *

Gates already knew whose hands they were, but she'd had no desire to leak any more information to the press than was absolutely necessary to quiet the media shit-storm. She'd watched the press conference on her television twice already, but made a point to have it playing in the background during her conference call with the Mayor, the Police Commissioner and the Chief of Detectives.

The press conference had been intended from the beginning to serve more than one purpose. The first had been to point out that Detective Kate Beckett was not laying down on the job, as many less reputable reporters had been implying both subtly or otherwise since the case began. The second was to very subtly put the top brass on notice, in case they were tempted to throw her under the proverbial bus in order to save face - something she was sure was a viable option in the mind of the sitting Police Commissioner.

* * *

_“Detective Beckett is still the primary in this investigation. Her team will be keeping her informed about any new developments and, should any new leads develop, she will be recalled to manage them. As her Captain, however, I take very seriously the security and well being of all of the officers and detectives who serve under my command as well as their families. I will not put one of my detectives on the street if I cannot reasonably guarantee their safety.”_

* * *

She turned up the TV in her office during her conversation with that same Commissioner, who was less than pleased to be put in the position of either following Gates' lead or committing political suicide, by implying that the safety and security of those under his command wasn't his highest priority. Mayor Weldon was already considering firing him, doing so under such a cloud would also ruin him politically. He was well aware that Gates did indeed have him by the shorthairs even before that. Political appointment or no, not even the New York City Police Commissioner was beyond the reach of Internal Affairs.

Victoria Gates could play political hardball with the best of them. A career spent almost exclusively in Internal Affairs had served her well in the upper echelons of the NYPD. She had Kate Beckett's notice of claim for sexual harassment after the whole Eric Vaughn affair on file in her desk, not to mention official copies of several memos between his office and Vaughn detailing their “deal” to assign Beckett to his personal security detail in his hotel room. It had been clearly inferred in the memos from Vaughn that the “services” he had expected her to perform had absolutely nothing to do with his security arrangements at the time. The internal memos that refuted the Commissioner's claim of a general hiring freeze during his aborted attempt to keep Beckett from getting her job back were simply the icing on the cake.

Taken together, what Gates had in her possession would not only bury him politically, but financially as well. If Detective Beckett ever decided to move forward and press the matter, he would not have a legal or political leg to stand on. Only Kate's desire not to be thrust into the media spotlight had kept Gates from using them before now. The man knew damned straight Gates had them, though. After the Vaughn affair and that whole undercover sting gone wrong, she felt she owed Beckett at least this much protection from the man's egotistical power games.

When the reporter from The New York Times asked where Beckett was, Gates had given the following reply, looking directly into the camera as if boring her gaze though it and into the soul of said police commissioner:

* * *

_“In light of Detective Hastings' abduction earlier this week, The NYPD and the 12th Precinct are taking no chances with the safety of Detective Beckett or her family. Their location is being kept under the strictest of confidence and I would request that you respect hers and her family's privacy at this time.”_

After that she had turned the press conference over to Paula Haas, who handled the question and answer session like the media savvy professional she was. Gates almost wished the NYPD budget would cover her retainer, the woman certainly knew her business.

* * *

**One week later**

Kate Beckett would not have admitted it before, but she'd needed this time away from the case. Both Rick and Alexis needed her more during those past five days than the 12th Precinct did. The canvas of both crime scenes had turned up a wealth of information about the victims but nothing that had gotten them any closer to the identity of the man identified only as “Jack”

Even the legitimate news outlets had picked up the name now. Especially after the murder of the tabloid reporter. Kate was thankful, however, that his murder had not been officially attached to her case. Considering the hatchet jobs he had been doing on her lately, it would have been seen as a conflict of interest, no matter how badly she wanted their killer caught.

Gates had assigned the boys to assist Sully while he worked it (and his partner was unavailable to back him up) on the off-chance the two might be connected, but since he was neither female nor a prostitute his case did not fit their killer's profile. The final nail had been when Lanie's discovery that a surgeon's scalpel had been used to torture and kill him instead of the long bladed single-edged knife used in the other cases. For now his murder was classified as a separate homicide with a possible connection with her case.

Though Kate had initially taken the vacation days under protest, she had to admit that she was looking at things a lot more clearly since returning from the Hamptons. She had thanked Rick - thoroughly - in their bed nearly every night since for his foresight, and for the courage it had taken for him to face down his demons, driving the very same route that had nearly cost him his life just four months ago, in the middle of the night, no less.

Alexis was still having nightmares, but they were less severe and coming a lot less frequently. Though she had certainly seen worse than the contents of that box as Lanie's assistant, at OCME, seeing them at home, someplace she was supposed to feel safe, had touched off whatever she had been repressing since returning home from her kidnapping. Everything she thought she had pushed into a neat little box while she was in Costa Rica. Alexis Castle had learned the hard way that there was nothing to be gained by running away.

Had Kate known she had simply buried everything without talking to anyone about it, she would have advised her against that. Regardless of whether she'd thought she had the right to interfere at the time. She knew all to well what it felt like to have that neat tidy box blown open. She still got cold chills whenever she caught sight of one of the ESU snipers with his rifle in hand and they were cops. Kate helped Alexis get an appointment to see Doctor Burke as a private patient. She hoped it would help.

Kate had only been gone from her desk for five minutes to visit the ladies room, and to make a phone call to Rick to see how Alexis was doing. It had taken all of her powers of persuasion the night before to get him to stay home while his daughter was at her first appointment with Doctor Burke. She knew from painful experience how hard that first appointment could be. She would need her dad to be there when she got home, not watching her do paperwork.

When she returned to her desk there was a box wrapped in plain brown packaging on it with a card addressed to her on it. At first thinking it was from Rick, she thought nothing of opening the card. The moment she did she turned white as a sheet. It read in plain block script,

_Detective Beckett,_

_Enclosed is half of a kidney I took from the second whore I killed the other night, preserved for you. More dead whores will be coming soon; many, many more. I apologize that your stepdaughter had to see the last gift I sent, I was more careful about the delivery of your gift this time._

_Catch me if you can._

_Yours truly,_   
_Jack_

Kate picked up the receiver of her desk phone as soon as the shock wore off, dialed the front desk and ordered tersely,

“Lock down the building. Right now!”

Sebastian slipped down the the steps into the subway system without anyone batting an eyelash. The lock-down of the 12th Precinct had missed him by five minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note** I know it's been a while since I last updated this, but I put in far too much work both researching this as well as writing it (not to mention the considerable work that Dtrekker and Cofkett had put into this on my behalf) to let it sit idle forever. I would like to thank Cofkett for continuing to act as my Beta for this story, and for her support and advice in the meantime.
> 
> The next chapters will likely be a bit longer as I get back into the swing of this story. I will also continue chipping away at the other unfinished works on my “to-do” list as I try to get caught up. Once more into the breach, dear friends. The adventure continues...
> 
> Shutterbug5269


	20. From Hell

_I send you half the Kidne I took from one women prasarved it for you. tother piece I fried and ate,_  
_it was very nise. I may send you the bloody knif that took it out if you only wate a whil longer,_  
_signed Catch me when you can Mishter Lusk_  
From the “From Hell” Letter. 1888  
One of the few Jack The Ripper letters believed by Scotland Yard to be authentic.

 

* * *

_Previously_

_When Kate returned to her desk there was a box wrapped in plain brown packaging on it with a card addressed to her on it. At first thinking it was from Rick, she thought nothing of opening the card. The moment she did she turned white as a sheet. It read in plain block script,_

_Detective Beckett,_

_Enclosed is half of a kidney I took from the second whore I killed the other night, preserved for you. More dead whores will be coming soon; many, many more. I apologize that your stepdaughter had to see the last gift I sent, I was more careful about the delivery of your gift this time._

_Catch me if you can._  
_Yours truly,_  
_Jack_

_Kate picked up the receiver of her desk phone as soon as the shock wore off, dialed the front desk and ordered tersely,_

_“Lock down the building. Right now!”_

_Sebastian slipped down the steps into the subway system without anyone batting an eyelash. The lock-down of the 12th Precinct had missed him by five minutes._

 

* * *

Sebastian Keller could not help the rush of excitement from his narrow escape. He was generally not given to taking such risks, but trusting somebody else to deliver his previous message to the lovely Detective Beckett had been a mistake. One he would not be repeating. There would be more such messages, carefully timed and calculated for effect.

Elena had provided him with a wealth of both knowledge and trinkets (not to mention carefully removed body parts) to keep the good detective and her wounded husband off balance for weeks while he waited for the media frenzy to die off.

Sebastian was well aware how good Detective Beckett was at her job. Even the delusional sociopath Jerry Tyson had held a grudging respect for her talents. Unlike Jerry and his whore, however, he did not view himself as either perfect or superior to her. He saw himself, in fact, as nothing but a cog in the great machine, just like Detective Beckett was.

He was a monster and held no illusions about that fact. It was a role he had long ago accepted, the moment he had taken the knife from his father's outstretched hand and slowly tortured his own twin sister to death with it. If the work went unfinished, which was possible, he knew his firstborn would likely be required to become a monster as well.

The perfect world his great grandfather had envisioned over a hundred years ago, for which the firstborn sons in his line had since one-by-one sacrificed their place in the paradise to come, was one he knew would hold no place for him. That perfectly ordered world would instead be inherited by people like Detective Beckett, whom he actually admired greatly for her tenacity and integrity.

There may have once been a time when he had doubted his place in the grand scheme of things, but that time was long since past. He would do his best, as nonviolently as possible, to prevent Detective Beckett from standing in his way, prey on every fear and insecurity she had to keep her twisted up in knots until the corruption, which she herself had fought against her entire career, was gone and the call for bloodletting was finally satisfied.

If all else failed and she became the threat to his mission that he feared she could be, then for the greater good, she would have to be silenced... just like his sister had been. Out of respect for what the good detective represented, he would make her death quick and clean. A dignified end for a worthy adversary.  She would not be desecrated and left in a dirty alley surrounded by trash like her mother had been.  Her husband would have the shallow comfort that she hadn't suffered. She and her family deserved that much. The quiet dignity of a full honors funeral was the least she and her family deserved for her years of public service, should it come to that.

He would repay her for her sacrifice to the common good by making sure the corrupt former senator who killed her mother would never live to capitalize on her passing. Should he, Sebastian, instead fall, his son would take up the mantle and the cause when he came of age.

For now though, he would disappear, wait for the frightened, ignorant huddled masses to go back to the meaningless tedium that was their ordinary lives. Wait for the power hungry, image conscious vultures in city government to scale back their patrols of Washington Heights when the media stopped caring about the lives of a few ignorant whores. When those whores stopped looking over their shoulders for the boogeyman in the dark alleys where they plied their trade... he would once again strike.

Tyson had been a slave to his pattern, once begun his ego and delusions would not allow him to stop... that was how Sebastian had caught him and Kelly Neiman. Unlike Tyson, he wasn't some mindless rabid dog, slave to a meaningless, self serving pattern he had little or no control over. Sebastian was on a mission, his mind clear... his goal certain.

He did not return to crime scenes after the fact to relive old glories, or gratify himself sexually, (his loving wife was the only one whom he would would ever allow to hold that place in his life) and with only one notable exception never kept trophies. This calling was not about him or his own ego. It never had been. He truly believed in the rightness of his cause, one he was willing to both kill and die for. He returned to the scenes of his crimes only long enough to know Detective Beckett had arrived, then disappeared into the night.

Though Kate Beckett was as dedicated and resourceful as he was, equally committed to her own cause, Sebastian was well aware that the longer the case went without a fresh body, the sooner the media would move on to the next big story. As soon as the police presence in the Heights returned to normal, the trail would go cold and fresh murder cases would begin to pile up. Beckett's own shooting had gone unsolved for three years, and her mother's for over a decade. Time was on his side and he knew exactly what buttons to push to make her and her superiors dance to his tune.

Sebastian Keller was a patient, practical man.

He would wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had originally envisioned ch 20 and 21 together, but decided to split them up. Sebastian's creepiness truly deserved its own chapter. 
> 
> To answer the question that Cofkett asked, and my Browncoat readers are certain to, the Serenity reference was indeed deliberate.


	21. Hunter and Hunted

_“London, noisy, noisome, nattering London: aged, ageless, dignified, eccentric in her ways - seat of empire, capital of all the world; that indomitable Grey lady of drab aspect but sparkling personality - was at her very, very best and most radiant. And Holmes, ebullient and uncommonly chatty, was in a mood to match.”_   
Edward B. Hanna, The Whitechapel Horrors

 

_Previously_

_Though Kate Beckett was as dedicated and resourceful as he was, equally committed to her own cause, Sebastian was well aware that the longer the case went without a fresh body, the sooner the media would move on to the next big story. As soon as the police presence in the Heights returned to normal, the trail would go cold and fresh murder cases would begin to pile up. Beckett's own shooting had gone unsolved for three years, and her mother's for over a decade. Time was on his side and he knew exactly what buttons to push to make her and her superiors dance to his tune._

_Sebastian Keller was a patient, practical man._

_He would wait._

* * *

**12th Precinct Homicide Division  
Two hours later**

"What do you mean nobody got a good look at him?" Captain Gates snapped over the phone on her desk. "He had to get into the building somehow!"

The desk sergeant didn't have an answer for her. Package deliveries went through the scanner, but they were mostly looking for knives and guns, not carefully packaged human organs. His answers did not improve Captain Gates' mood by any stretch of the imagination.

Tory Ellis and Detective Hastings were hard at work poring over every second of security camera footage half an hour before and after Detective Beckett called in the building lock-down.

"I've gone through every security camera that wasn't down for maintenance today and haven't found a sign of a Caucasian male in a delivery uniform jacket," Tory replied when Gates showed up at her door.

She was just as frustrated as the captain, but she had no real outlet for her frustration.

"Tory," Hastings interjected, before Gates could get wound up, "up until this point we've been focusing our search on a white male dressed as a messenger, but the logo on the back of the jacket is very distinctive, what if we search for that instead?"

"Hmm," Tory hummed as she began to reset the search pattern on her computer, “that might work.”

"Get on that you two," Gates ordered, her blood was up and she didn't care who knew it, "this skell has been playing cat and mouse with my people once too often and I'm not having it. Not in my house!"

Gates turned toward the door, then turned back, her voice softening slightly.

"Oh, and Hastings, I've stepped up the details on you and Detective Beckett, effective immediately. I'm not taking any chances... with either of you."

Hastings nodded grimly, but her focus had shifted almost entirely on the task at hand, intent on pulling her weight in this investigation, even if she was stuck in the precinct.

Ten minutes later they hit pay-dirt.

When they increased the search parameters to an hour before the lock-down order, they found that the cameras at the main entrance had recorded a redhead pushing a hand cart wearing the slightly over-size messenger jacket in question (quite likely to discreetly cover her ample cleavage). She was the only messenger to arrive in such a distinctive looking jacket in the allotted time frame.

According to the logs, Samantha Waters had signed in, but there was no evidence she had ever left the building. They were able to track her movements for nearly forty-five minutes before losing her in a coverage gap caused by one of the building's five malfunctioning cameras, this one near the homicide squad-room - less than ten minutes before the package was found on Beckett's desk - where she vanished from the security footage seemingly without a trace.

A detailed sweep of the entire homicide floor located her in the nearby supply closet, unconscious, bound hand and foot with NYPD issue zip-ties, clad from the waist up in her bra and camisole.  Just like in Detective Hastings abduction, she had both an injection mark on her neck and had never once laid eyes on her attacker.

A subsequent perimeter search outside the building quickly turned up her missing jacket and uniform shirt in a dumpster not far from the precinct, along with a very realistic looking NYPD detective's badge in one of the pockets bearing Beckett's shield number with traces of dried blood on the leather backing and belt clip.

The shirt, jacket and badge were all sent to trace for analysis. Though they were no closer to his identity, they could now surmise that their killer was not only a man of slender build, since he had to have fit in the woman's uniform shirt, but also had few distinguishing features that would make him stand out.  It wasn't much, but it was more than they had the day before.

Gates knew instinctively that Beckett needed to stand down for a day or two. She had set up a fresh murder board in the break room while her desk was being swept for prints and trace evidence by CSU. She hadn't removed her eyes from it since, trying her best to hide how thoroughly freaked out she was and failing miserably.  Gates had allowed her the distraction while arrangements were made for her security detail, but it was now well past time to send her home.

She wasn't going to accomplish anything in this state, other than to serve as a distraction to the other detectives working the case. It was going to be difficult enough to keep the top brass from ordering her to remove Beckett from the case as it stood.

Victoria Gates knew it was time to quit stalling and take the bull by the horns. She now had a very uncomfortable phone call to make.

* * *

**Twenty minutes later**

Captain Gates had been certain that Richard Castle would go ballistic after she called him and he did not disappoint. He charged out of the elevator and into the squad-room, making a beeline for her office like a bull in a China shop, showing none of his usual boyish charm in the process. Alexis trailed along behind him, one hand clasped firmly in his as she let him drag her along with him, fear and anxiety painted all over her face. She quietly whispered apologies as they went to everyone her father shouldered past on their path from the elevator.

"Kate!" Rick shouted, a mix of terror and anger in his tone. "Where's Kate? Where's my wife?"

Gates could tell this question was directed at her, by the look in his eyes which seemed to bore right through her straight into her soul. She had never seen the cold fury he was capable of until that very moment. Almost in spite of herself, she flinched internally and just barely managed to keep her bearing to hold his gaze. The last time Rick had barreled into the precinct this way had been the day Kate had disappeared during an undercover operation she had practically ordered Kate to lie to him about.

This time at least, this wasn't her doing and she had better news for him.

“She's in the break room, Mr. Castle,” Gates stated, drawing on as much of her authoritarian posture as she could. “She received a package at her desk, allegedly from the killer. I've increased hers and Detective Hastings' security details, but I need you to take her home. If I could spare Hastings right now I'd send her home too, but your wife is far too distracted to help and most of the work is up to the lab techs anyway. I don't want to see your wife back here until Monday, understood?”

Rick swallowed hard, knowing his wife would put up at least a token fight against being sent home again. Kate had barely been back from the last time Gates sent her away and he knew she would not like it.  Rick was right, he could hear from the doorway of the break room as Kate made all of the same arguments she had when Shaw had kicked her off the Dunn case and Montgomery had sent her home with him nearly a lifetime ago.  _“This is like Scott Dunn all over again.”_ Rick mused to himself, _“The only thing missing is Jordan Shaw.”_

Just like Montgomery was back then, Gates was not taking no for an answer.

“Sir, this is my case,” Kate stammered, her emotions leaking through her voice in spite of herself.

“And it will still be your case on Monday,” Gates shot back, her tone a mild warning that she would brook no further argument.

“He's coming after me!” Kate tried again, her desperation almost pitiful for him and Alexis to watch.

“And if I was talking to anyone else, they would be riding a desk, right along with Hastings.” Gates responded, her tone lowering an octave in warning. Which Kate missed.

“Like it or not, Sir, I'm already on the front line.” Kate tried again, standing defiant, her pride overwhelming her common sense.

“That's about enough, Detective,” Gates snapped, the command in her tone clear for everyone in the squad-room to hear, “I gave you an order and I expect you to obey it, understood?”

Kate opened her mouth to protest, but was stopped by the arch of Gates' brow and the dangerous gleam in her eye.

“Not. Another. Word, Detective,” Gates growled, her patience completely gone, “or I will be asking for your weapon and shield. Go home. Do not come back here before Monday, you are to consider that a direct order.”

Kate nodded angrily with a muttered _'yes, sir'_ and stormed past Rick out the door, grabbing her jacket from the coat tree near her desk as she stalked like an avenging fury to the elevator. After jabbing the button much harder than necessary. She turned on her heel, and growled,

“You coming, Castle?”

It wasn't until the elevator doors closed that Kate realized Alexis had been with him this whole time, which caused her searing anger to dissipate almost instantly. She stood in mortified silence the rest of the way down to the garage level, an uncomfortable silence that continued all the way to Rick's car then all the way home.

* * *

Kate didn't break until the doors had closed on the elevator up to the loft. Choking angry sobs wracked her body as she clung to Rick's coat when they arrived on their floor, her resolve to hold firm completely gone. She knew that here at home she didn't need to be strong all the time, she could give in to her fear knowing in her heart that her husband would do whatever was needed to keep them safe.  It had taken her two years to come to the realization that, just as she had alone in her apartment, here at home with her family,she could truly let go.

After drawing a hot bath and setting out a glass of wine for her, Rick set about making some phone calls. The first was to the precinct. Ryan filled him in on everything that had taken place that day, along with the gist of the note Kate had received. Rick shivered at the thought.

Shortly after the three of them had left, an NYPD uniform shirt, jacket and gun belt had been found stuffed on the top shelf of the utility closet where the messenger had been found, along with a 9mm Sig Sauer. The weapon had been issued to Kate during her brief stint with the FBI, but had disappeared shortly after Agent McCord had turned it in after firing her last year.

The ballistics matched the weapon used in the torture and murder of Vulcan Simmons. The report that it had been turned in by Rachel McCord had conveniently disappeared when Bracken had tried to frame Kate for his murder and had only resurfaced after his arrest. It had been obvious to Rick, even back then, that the frame had never been meant to survive serious scrutiny. It was just a means to isolate her so he could have her killed. After she was dead it would no longer have mattered if she was exonerated.

The blood found on the fake badge with Kate's number on it was still being tested, but Rick would not be surprised in the least if it came back as a match for Elena Markov. At the very least it would once and for all clear her name of that murder anyway.

The second call was to a security firm that his father had recommended after their brief encounter last year. He knew that Kate didn't really like Hunt, or whatever his father called himself these days, but if there was only one thing about his estranged father that he trusted, it was his dedication to their safety. A bodyguard for Alexis would be sent in the next couple days.

By the time Kate got out of bed to go to work on Monday, he would have all of his ducks in a row so that his mother, Alexis and Jim would be safe while he was with Kate at the precinct, along with additional security at the loft.  He'd learned his lesson the hard way after Tyson had tried to frame him for murder.

Little did he know when he first conjured up the thought of Jordan Shaw that he would not be waiting for long before that particular shoe dropped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I know I'm taking a few liberties with Castle canon here, but Lanie did say the bullets were from a gun registered in her name, not necessarily one of her issued sidearms. Since she usually carried both of those with her, especially on that case, it would have been difficult to steal one from her apartment on such short notice without tipping her off. Her FBI issued sidearm however seemed like easier pickings for Bracken and his ilk.


	22. There Shall Be Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains depictions of the aftermath of violent murder. It is somewhat graphic and rather gruesome. For my casual readers who may be sensitive to such things, I have marked the passage in case you would rather skip it.

_Rock on, gold dust woman_  
 _Take your silver spoon and dig your grave_   
Fleetwood Mac "Gold Dust Woman"

* * *

_Previously_

_By the time Kate got out of bed to go to work on Monday, he would have all of his ducks in a row so that his mother, Alexis and Jim would be safe while he was with Kate at the precinct, along with additional security at the loft. He'd learned his lesson the hard way after Tyson had tried to frame him for murder._

_Little did he know when he first conjured up the thought of Jordan Shaw that he would not be waiting for long before that particular shoe dropped._

* * *

**November 6, 2014**

It had been nearly three weeks since the letter and the package had been delivered to Kate's desk and there had been no new leads. It was like _“Jack”_ had dug a hole, dropped into it and pulled the earth merrily on top of himself, he had disappeared so completely. The press had since become silent on the matter and the NYPD had scaled down their patrols. The city politicians simply could not maintain such a heavy presence in one neighborhood for this long. It had been inevitable. Many city politicians and officials were likely hoping he had moved on to become some other city's problem.

Kate knew that he hadn't, and so did Rick, “Jack” had pushed things way too far to simply pull up stakes and move on. They knew he was still out there, contemplating his next move. If he really was following “Jack the Ripper's” playbook, he still had at least one more murder to commit and it would likely be soon. The one in Chicago had killed women there for several years.

Gates believed them, but their opinions were neither noted nor asked for by the NYPD top brass.

She had been officially ordered back into the rotation and handed a fresh homicide case the week before. Thankfully it had been a simple, “Jack shot Jill over Bill” type of case, which they had solved rather quickly. The sobbing husband of their murder victim had burst into tears and confessed as soon as he'd realized his wife had not been having an affair. The other man she had been seen having dinner with while he'd been out of town on business had been her estranged half brother visiting from overseas. He'd still been crying, whispering how sorry he was when Officer Velasquez led him off to holding in handcuffs. Kate hadn't been this distracted during a murder investigation since the Boylen Plaza bombing. Castle was worried about her. Hell, she was worried about herself. She felt the rabbit hole of this case yawning open to consume her.

When they got home that night, she just wanted to feel something, anything at all. Something else besides the sword of Damocles in the form of the Ripper case hanging over her head, waiting to swallow her whole. She had jumped Rick as soon as the door closed on their bedroom, and God bless him, he had risen to the occasion. It had taken three blistering rounds of intense, angry lovemaking to get her out of her own head, and two more of the softer, gentler variety to help wind them both down so they could sleep, snuggled in with each other under the covers warm from the bliss of their shared afterglow. Sleep that had, for once, blissfully not included any nightmares for either of them.

When Rick and Kate arrived at the precinct that morning, they found the hubbub of barely controlled chaos waiting for them. Chaos with a familiar FEDERAL ring to it. Kate had barely made it to her desk, when Captain Gates appeared at her office door and cleared her throat.

"Detective Beckett, Mr. Castle, a word please."

When they arrived in her office and the door swung closed, they noticed a very familiar redhead sitting in the chair in front of Gate's desk.

“From what I've been told, you're already familiar with Special Agent Jordan Shaw?” Gates stated. She did not sound happy.

“I take it that your police commissioner didn't take you into his confidence that federal assistance was requested?” Shaw asked.

“No, Agent Shaw, he did not,” Gates said, doing her best to sound diplomatic, “not that we're willing to turn down any assistance you can offer.”

"Yeah, internal politics can be such a bitch sometimes," Shaw said with a hint of humor, "just ask my associate here, I'm sure you all remember Agent McCord."

Shaw waved her hand toward the corner next to the door where Rachel McCord stood, leaning against the wall with her arms folded. As Kate and her former training officer exchanged pleasantries, Agent Shaw continued to explain her presence.

"She's been seconded to my unit for the time being while they sort out that whole matter of the gun you found tied to a murder. A gun she was supposed to have turned in..."

"I did turn the damned gun in." McCord growled, interrupting Agent Shaw, her eyes on fire with indignation. "Filled out the damned paperwork in triplicate just like I was supposed to. This is bullshit..."

"The supporting paperwork disappeared for a while at precisely the wrong time," Shaw continued, interrupting McCord's angry rant. Nobody present could be certain if the arched eyebrow she leveled at McCord was out of rebuke or sympathy.  "It's mostly a formality, but given what her usual job entails it has to be sorted out before she can go back into the field on her usual playground again. With Avery out on detached assignment, I was short a body on my team so I drew the short straw."

Shaw turned to look at Beckett and added, "Though had I known I could have poached Detective Beckett two years ago, I would have put in an offer myself. My unit is a bit more up her alley."

Kate felt a bit embarrassed to be put on the spot.

"I'm right here you know."

"I know," Shaw replied, her voice once again alight with mischief, "and I see by the rings on both your fingers, congratulations are in order. Good to see that you finally saw him, Kate, my profiles are rarely wrong."

"Is old home week is over, so we can get down to business now?" McCord interrupted sarcastically. "The sooner this case is done, the sooner I can go back to my real job."

"This is why I'm assigning you the gun angle, McCord," Shaw stated, "at least I know you'll be motivated. Go to Sing Sing and interview William Bracken and see what you can shake loose."

"Hey!" Kate stammered, "this is still my case!"

"Yes, it is," Jordan explained, "but you have too much of a visceral reaction to Bracken, he knows he can push your buttons to throw you off track. As far as he knows, Agent McCord handles National Security matters. She can work a different angle, make threats you can't. Put him off his game for once."

Kate sulked for a few moments, leaving Gates to wonder how much of her husband's melodramatic streak had rubbed off on her since their marriage, but in the end, she could not refute Agent Shaw's logic.

* * *

Sebastian Keller stepped into the makeshift operating room that Kelly Nieman had set up shortly before her violent death with open fascination for the possibilities the space provided. Though he found the idea of what she had in mind for Detective Beckett repugnant, the space had definite potential, once repurposed for his needs. The sturdy steel operating table with its reinforced restraints would be most useful to his long term goals.

After some hesitation, and several hours of painful persuasion, the pair had laid out their entire plan to lure Beckett into the open, kidnap her and bring her here where no one would think to search for her so Nieman could steal her face. Though he found their goals short-sighted and petty, he had to admire their capacity to plan their next move. Had she not turned out to be a whore in the end he might have admired her ability to keep Tyson's baser impulses on a leash.

His mission, his life's work, was too important to be bogged down by personal vendettas. Father had taught him that. He did what he had to do to protect his family, but aside from that he stayed the course. There was still much to do.

His first task was to get rid of all of the pictures of Detective Beckett, especially the ones of her in the bedroom with her husband as he found them to be incredibly invasive. He'd heard that Mr. Castle had shot the man, Beckett too, not long after the time stamp on most of them if he were to hazard a guess, but the slimy bastard just didn't stay down.

If he had caught somebody stalking his wife to this extent, he would have slit their throat on sight, Elizabeth would have, too.

She was quite accomplished with a carving knife in her own right and was no fainting flower when the time came for bloodshed. He had no idea where mother had found her, but they were a perfect match. Lizzie would be here now, helping him were it not for their son, who was having trouble with senior year final exams and was shy around girls, at least the right sort, anyway. David needed his mother to shepherd him through this awkward stage. If the wrong sort tried to confuse him, she would know what to do.

_"Perhaps we aren't so completely different after all, Mr. Castle,"_ he thought to himself.

Sebastian shrugged, then set to work adapting the space to his needs. Kelly Nieman would have no further use for it. Nor would Jerry Tyson. A shame, really, that they could not have been turned to a higher purpose. They certainly knew how to plan ahead. Everything was proceeding according to his design. It would be time to go back to Washington Heights soon. The prey was once again at the mercy of the predator.

Time for the hunt to begin anew.

* * *

**November 9th  
4:30 AM**

Mary Kelly was walking home after her "extra shift". She was a stripper in one of the Russian Mob-run "gentleman's clubs" in Washington Heights. She worked her shift as an exotic dancer and took home her usual pay so everything would look legit on paper, but after hours she performed "additional services" for a very select clientele that generally involved a lot more than lap dances, many of whom were far from gentle with her.

She didn't like it.

It wasn't what she'd signed on for when she'd applied for the job as an exotic dancer to help cover her college expenses since her mom and dad died. She wanted out in the worst way, but she saw what happened to the last girl who ran to the cops. A year ago, they made her and the other girls watch while they beat her and slowly strangled her to death. It had been brutal. She never again, not even once, entertained the notion of running after that.

As she unlocked the door to her apartment, she never saw the dark shadow behind her in the hallway. There was a pinprick at her neck, her vision swam, then she saw only shadows.

* * *

**7:45 AM**

Kate got the call she had been dreading for three long weeks. Esposito was waiting for them at the door to Mary Kelly's apartment.

"Vic's name is Mary Kelly, a Junior at NYU and stripper for one of the high end clubs across town." the Latino detective offered. "Looked like a blitz robbery gone wrong when the super found her door open and called 911. Once Lanie got a look at our Vic, though she sent Demming packing and had the watch commander call us."

Kate nodded, noting that none of the uniforms were anxious to go back inside. She knew it was going to be bad.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

The body of Mary Kelly was lying naked in the middle of the bed, the wall by the right side spattered with arterial spray. The sheets appeared to be saturated with blood, and pooled underneath the mattress as well. Her shoulders were flat on the bed with her body lying cross-ways on the mattress, her toes pointing to the left side of the bed, her upper body to the right. Her head was turned to the left, her eyes wide open as if staring off into the open, searching for help that would never come, just like the others.

Both of her arms lay over her head on the mattress, elbows bent, fingers clenched as if she had been bound there, though no ligature marks were yet visible. She had obviously not put up much of a struggle.

Her legs were spread apart, her chest neatly cut open with a nearly perfect y incision that would not have been amiss in Lanie's morgue, the abdominal cavity empty. Her breasts were cut off, her arms mutilated by several jagged cuts and her face so badly cut up it was nearly unrecognizable from the college ID from her purse. The viscera and and removed body parts were found on the floor next to the bed, near a void where the high backed chair on the the other side of the room had been which was covered in blood and gore.

**XXXXXXXXXXX**

Lanie looked like she was going to be sick and for a medical examiner that was saying something, the usually saucy ME seemed hushed by the gruesome scene. Her new intern, Sally Keller was literally a godsend, having flitted about the crime scene since their arrival, seemingly untroubled by the sight of so much blood and gore. The uniforms gave her a wide berth, especially the younger ones, a general consensus of _“better her than me”_ among them.

Lanie was quick to give each and every one of them her best evil eye. The girl was barely a fourth year med student, and she was handling a crime scene like she'd been doing it all her life. Not since Alexis Castle had interned for her had she seen a more businesslike and professional intern. To be honest she would likely have sent Alexis home on this one, or at least made her stay in the morgue cataloging personal effects. Lanie looked Kate straight in the eye, thankful to have something else to look at than this mangled woman's corpse and spoke the only two words that were needed under the circumstances.

“He's back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I have sufficiently answered the question, “Does his wife know what he's up to?” and no, it was not a coincidence that I've named Sebastian's wife Lizzie after the infamous “Lizzie Borden” who was tried and acquitted in 1893 for the 1892 ax murders of her father and stepmother in Fall River, Massachusetts, but was never able to shake the suspicion in polite society that she had gotten away with murder. I am not taking one side or the other on the topic unless new evidence comes to light.


	23. Something Wicked This Way Comes

_“Cry, little sister - Thou shall not fall_  
 _Come to your brother - Thou shall not die_  
 _Unchain me, sister - Thou shall not fear_  
 _Love is with your brother - Thou shall not kill”_   
Cry Little Sister: Gerard McMann

* * *

_Previously_

_Not since Alexis Castle had interned for her had she seen a more businesslike and professional intern. To be honest she would likely have sent Alexis home on this one, or at least made her stay in the morgue cataloging personal effects. Lanie looked Kate straight in the eye, thankful to have something else to look at than this woman's mangled corpse and spoke the only two words that were needed under the circumstances._

_"He's back."_

* * *

Sally Keller had recognized her father's handiwork from the moment she first set foot on the crime scene with Dr. Parrish. He might not be as enthusiastic as she would have been, but his cuts were precise and he'd left the whore open for effect, her internal organs strewn almost haphazardly about the small space of the bedroom. She knew it wasn't random, saw the organization of it, but kept such thoughts to herself, neither committing them to paper nor relating them to Dr. Parrish as she detailed the crime scene and took the copious notes that the older woman dictated to her.

Her eyes, however darted about the scene, taking in every detail, missing nothing. Father might not be doing this for the right reasons, but she could not doubt his commitment, even if he was just going through the motions.

Father had disappeared without a trace nearly a week before the culling had begun. Even before she had begun her internship at OCME she had followed the case with great interest, noting that he had become sidetracked far too often from the work.

The reporter, the female cop dressed like a whore, even the distractions aimed at keeping Detective Beckett sidetracked were distractions from the work.  She knew she had added to his distractions, but of all people, she knew his work was tainted by something else. That he was merely going through the motions. From what Grandfather had told her, he never really wanted to fulfill the family legacy. He'd wanted to be a doctor instead, wanted to help people. He wanted to be a saint instead of the monster to his generation as their lineage required.  Grandfather had forced the role upon him.

Now Father wanted her to be a saint instead. Wanted her to be the doctor he could not be, in the vain desire to place a band aid on the world instead of the scalpel to excise diseased tissue that was required.

Ever since Grandfather had caught her performing a live dissection on his neighbor's cat at age ten, he knew exactly what she was. Knew that their gift (their curse as father once called it) had skipped a generation. Mother didn't see it, father didn't want to see it, but grandfather had. She was the chosen one, not her father or her younger brother. She wasn't a saint, she never would be. Something she'd always known. She had already taken two upstate, before grandfather stopped her.

It was not her time, he'd told her. Her time would come. She had wanted to deal with Dr. Samuels herself. He'd wanted her to be his whore, to soil herself for his pleasure, and she'd wanted to look him in the eye and drink in the fear there right before she cut into his flesh. She'd wanted to emasculate him while he watched before she disemboweled him a piece at a time without anesthetic. She still had vivid dreams about doing just that.

Grandfather had stopped her this time too, insistent that she stay her hand. This was her father's time on the stage, and now that he had begun, her hands needed to remain clean until he was finished. Flawed creation that he was, Father had to be permitted to finish what he'd started, especially if she was going to be able to help him from behind the scenes in her current internship at OCME. She had called Father instead, at Grandfather's suggestion and turned on the water works. She'd had Father wrapped around her little finger her entire life and love him as she does, she could manipulate him in ways Grandfather could only dream of.

Sally hoped that when what was left of Dr. Samuels was found, Dr. Parrish would allow her to sit in on the autopsy. It would not be nearly as satisfying to her outrage as taking his insides apart herself would have been, but she would derive some satisfaction out of Father's most motivated work to date. From what she'd overheard him saying to Mother, he'd kept Dr. Samuels alive, screaming in the basement for hours whilst showing him some of the more creative uses for forceps and a dull surgical scalpel. Some of the things he'd done were things she would never have dreamed of. Father had carried a lot more repressed rage than she had ever realized. Mother said he'd seemed almost serene when he finally emerged from the basement covered in gore.

She'd received Dr. Samuels' written apology to her in the mail two days later. It was signed in his own blood.

Unlike her father, Sally heard the voices as clearly, though as if they were in the room with her. Voices calling her to kill, to paint the streets red in an unending river of blood. The new world to come needed a monster to birth it into being and try as he might, her father was not it. His work was a flawed creation borne not of their holy cause, which in his heart he truly only paid lip service to, but out of her Grandfather's desperation to continue the cycle of violence.

They had both lost their way.

She had recognized it in Father's handiwork from the start that his whole heart really wasn't in it. Grandfather had only realized the gravity of his mistake after he had seen her youthful handiwork firsthand, by then it was too late the die had been cast. Father wasn't performing the culling because he truly believed, he was doing it because Grandfather had wound him up and set him loose as, in the words of emperor Tiberius, _“a viper for the people and a Phaethon for the world.”_

Grandfather had twisted him and now he was driven primarily to silence the screams of the whore who had only been her aunt by an accident of birth. Grandfather and Grandmother never spoke her name, but Father had shared a womb with her. Grandfather had only told Sally about her to explain why Father was the way he was. For all of his efforts, he had never been able to sever that connection between them, that bond that all twins share, any more than anyone could sever hers to her twin brother David. David was just like Father had been as a boy, from what grandfather had told her.

She actually felt pity for what Grandfather had done to him. It had been wrong, even Grandfather saw it now. To Father, culling the whores was less an obligation to the family legacy, and more a means to silence the screams of a twin sister he had helped to murder.

To her it was a calling. She heard the voices calling out to her to kill, singing in her soul and in her blood. Even Grandfather knew she would be able to deny them for only so long.

Father had been mistaken in only one way.

David would be the saint, the bastion of virtue that her father had expected her to be. Father thought he would have to force the mantle upon her twin (younger by about two minutes) like it had been forced upon him and the very idea sickened her. David would finish law school soon, he'd been a recipient of the Johanna Beckett scholarship right out of high school. He would never know that he was a figurehead, the crusader and righter of wrongs. Everything father had wanted for her.

From the shadows, she would do the dirty work so his name and conscience would be clear. David Keller would be the saint, the kind of leader the world would need after the bloody work was done. There would be no place for monsters like her when the new world came.

She was a monster. The viper for the world that her Grandfather had spoken of. Her time was soon to come, but she had a little bit of business to attend to first.

* * *

**In traffic on the George Washington Bridge**

Special Agent Rachel McCord's visit to Sing Sing Correctional Facility had gone pretty much the way she had figured. He'd been surprised that she had been the one to show up and not Detective Beckett, he had been thrown off his game by her appearance there just like Agent Shaw had said she would.

A few well placed threats concerning a certain detention center in Cuba and he was talking a lot more freely, at least about the gun in question. Especially since she had pulled the plug on the camera and given him a little added incentive to talk when she first walked into the room.

It didn't give them much information on the current case, but at least when this assignment was over she would be able to go back to her real work. It may not have been Beckett's cup of tea, nor did it do much for her social life but it was a job that had to be done.

**12th Precinct Homicide**

Kate had been in the precinct filing paperwork, the resources that had been pulled from the case when it had seemed to have stalled were right back now that “Jack” was back in the papers. Phones were ringing off the hook in the precinct with “tips” from concerned citizens, letters and emails had arrived from various sources, a few ostensibly from their killer signed “Jack the Ripper” most of which were hoaxes, even though a few were addressed to her at the precinct - all of which had to be tracked down and verified, taking up time and resources.

One had even come with a photo of her in the blue dress she wore at the Heat Wave book launch, with her crossed out in red ink. It was very unnerving, but had turned out to be from one of the women on the circuit, upset that she had bagged “the White Whale” before she could reel him in herself. Kate had gotten almost perverse satisfaction out of that interview, which Castle had missed because of a last minute book signing set up by Gina at Barnes & Noble across town.

The bitch had not counted on Tory's savvy at tracking IP addresses. Kate let her sweat it out in zoo lockup with the hookers from a vice bust downtown for a couple hours and let her go, secure in the knowledge that she had marked her territory, both professionally and personally. She reminded herself to tease Castle about it in bed later. Let him mark a little territory of his own, but her musings were cut short when her desk phone rang.

“Beckett,” Kate stated, all business once again.

“A friend of mine gave me this number, said I should call if I saw anything,” said the female voice on the other end of the line. She sounded scared.

“What did you see?” Kate was wary, she couldn't be certain this wasn't another crank call, but there was something about the voice on the other end, something that sounded sincere.

“I was working the corner when that last woman was killed.” she said, “I think I got a good look at his face.”

“Can you come in?” Kate asked, “work with one of our sketch artists?”

“Look,” she whispered, her voice still tinged with nerves, “I can't be seen talking to cops, that amnesty thing ended a long time ago.”

“I can come get you,” Kate said, trying to sound reassuring, “make it look like an arrest, maybe get you some protection...”

“I don't know who to trust, and it certainly ain't cops,” she interrupted, “I don't want this guy to single me out.”

“I'll come alone, do it quietly, no lights, nothing flashy,” Kate promised, “okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed, “Old Palermo Club in Washington Heights, one hour.”

* * *

**One hour later**

Kate was leaning on her car where the young sounding woman, likely a hooker who hadn't been working the streets long, had indicated. Her nerves were up, they always were this close to the alley where her mother was murdered. Coonan, Simmons, Lockwood and Maddox were dead and Bracken was in prison, but it did nothing to lessen the impact this place had upon her as she debated the wisdom of coming here alone and not for the first time. The place still creeped her out something fierce.

She'd called Castle and told him she was swinging by to check on a lead on her way home, which was essentially true, but she'd downplayed it. She especially hadn't told him where she was going, it would only cause him to worry. Dispatch knew where she was going, a sector car was only a heartbeat away by radio, all she had to do was call.

A set of firecrackers went off nearby, causing her to snap her head around and her hand to reach for her sidearm when her cell phone rang.

Kate unlocked it and was about to answer when she felt a sudden jab in her arm and everything started to get fuzzy. She slid bonelessly into a wheelchair placed behind her and a slender hand reached into her lap for the still ringing, unlocked phone.

“I'm sorry Mr. Castle,” the woman said, “Detective Beckett is unable to answer, you might still find her if you hurry.”

Elizabeth Keller hung up the phone and pulled the battery out. She tossed the badge and gun into the detective's car before wheeling the chair with Kate in it past the still bleeding body of the young hooker she had used to lure her here, (her throat was slit when her usefulness was over) and dumped Beckett into the back of the van before driving away.

Her husband's work was at a critical phase, and Detective Beckett was an unwanted distraction.


	24. Impasse

_Behind these eyes a demon sleeps,_  
_A monster of my own creation,_  
_Within my mind's dark caverns creeps,_  
_Needing but a moment's fury to awaken._

 _I lock it away within myself,_  
_In those dark caverns it knows so well,_  
_And bind it down in its dark larder,_  
_Locked in chains of purest will._

 _I walk the world with innocent face,_  
_Never showing the conflict behind my guise,_  
_Ever fearing what may come to pass,_  
_Lest anything wake the demon_  
_Behind these eyes._

* * *

_Previously_

_A set of firecrackers went off nearby, causing her to snap her head around and her hand to reach for her sidearm when her cell phone rang._

_Kate unlocked it and was about to answer when she felt a sudden jab in her arm and everything started to get fuzzy. She slid bonelessly into a wheelchair placed behind her and a slender hand reached into her lap for the still ringing, unlocked phone._

_"I'm sorry Mr. Castle," the woman said, "Detective Beckett is unable to answer, you might still find her if you hurry."_

_Elizabeth Keller hung up the phone and pulled the battery out. She tossed the badge and gun into the detective's car before wheeling the chair with Kate in it past the still bleeding body of the young hooker she had used to lure her here, (her throat was slit when her usefulness was over) and dumped Beckett into the back of the van before driving away._

_Her husband's work was at a critical phase, and Detective Beckett was an unwanted distraction._

* * *

For the second time in nearly as many months, the 12th Precinct went on full alert, along with every on and off duty officer and detective in Manhattan, the thin blue line rose up in singular purpose to search every dark corner of New York City for one of their own. Sector cars swept abandoned buildings with ESU support on standby, the Port Authority effectively shut down as every bus and train and truck was searched. Police lights were in full force at every bridge, thruway and tunnel entrance in the Five Burroughs within twenty minutes of Richard Castle's second, panicked phone call of the evening to Captain Victoria Gates.

After nearly blistering the walls for over ten minutes on the phone to the team lead of Kate's protective detail for apparently falling down on the job, she personally authorized overtime for every uniform and detective in the precinct with a single angry set of orders: "Find Detective Kate Beckett."

Sebastian was not amused.

He had gone out prepared to find his next target to be culled from the herd, only to find not only Washington Heights, but most of Manhattan overrun with police cars. N.Y.P.D. ESU vehicles were on every corner in support, even N.Y. State Troopers were on site to fill any gaps in security. He had not been active since his last kill, and hadn't been in contact with his wife or daughter since disposing of Dr. Samuels. Sally had begun her internship rotation with OCME, and he didn't want to risk his handiwork blowing back on her. He didn't want her involved in this at all. He had no idea what was going on and it seemed he had only one way to find out.

He fished in his pocket for his Presbyterian Hospital ID badge, thankful he was wearing scrubs tonight and approached the nearest ESU paramedic unit with his hands raised, making no sudden moves.

"What seems to be the trouble officers?" he asked without rancor while they looked him up and down.

He wasn't a particularly large or imposing man, and most people found that disarming. His pleasant and soft spoken demeanor had gotten him out of more than one scrape, not to mention he came off as non-threatening to his intended prey.

The uniformed officers were less than forthcoming with information, instead looking over his credentials for Presbyterian Hospital and peppering him with questions, mostly centering on why he was out in Washington Heights dressed as he was at this hour of the night.

"My daughter is Pre-med at Columbia, her apartment isn't far from here," he said, conscious of the half truth he was telling - Sally's apartment really was about three blocks away from here -"figured I'd drop by for a visit, especially with that psycho on the loose."

The sergeant handed him back his hospital I.D. and dismissed him with a nod of his head. "I suggest you go there, and stay there for the time being. We're locking down the Heights."

After Sebastian stepped clear of the officers he spied the EMS support vehicle not far away along with a familiar face. Ekaterina "Wildcat" Beauregard leaned against her unit, her eyes in constant motion taking in everything around her.

Ekaterina had been finishing up her training at Presbyterian for her Paramedic certification during his initial training rotation as a Nurse's Aide and they had struck up a casual friendship over coffee. She was just as closed off about her personal life as he was about his and he respected that. If he was going to get information about what was going tonight it would come from her, since work was all they ever spoke of.

"Ekaterina!" he stage whispered, not wishing to cause her too much grief. "What's all this? Some kind of exercise?"

Her expression never wavered, only the tight momentary fraction of a lift at the corners of her lips gave any indication that she recognized him. He knew her body language well enough to know she was on full alert.

Though Ekaterina's job was to save lives, Sebastian was fully aware that she could take him ruthlessly apart with her bare hands, or just about any of the tools on her person or in her medical bag, including her stethoscope. She'd actually taught him self-defense, concerned for a small, slight man like himself in a world of would-be bullies. Much of his skill with a blade (outside of his father's influence) he could attribute to her unknowing tutelage.

"A Detective was kidnapped not far from here," she stated smoothly in her light Russian accent. Her English was much better than her father's, whom he had met only once.

"Detective Beckett, I think. Right under the noses of her protective detail."

Sebastian's mind was spinning after she related what details she knew to him before she bid him farewell and admonished him not to linger in the area. The NYPD was on edge, and she did not wish to see him harmed.

What his Russian friend had described was right out of the plot he had tortured out of Kelly Nieman. Only one other person knew it who was still among the living.

 _"What the hell are you up to, Lizzie?"_ he thought to himself.

If she was following the very former Dr. Nieman's plan, there was only one place she would possibly take Detective Beckett. He would have to hurry if he wished to keep his family out of this mess without having to kill the detective in the process. He would if the circumstances required it, if she'd seen too much, but killing a cop - any cop - was a complication he just didn't need if it could be avoided. He didn't want to put Sally in the position of having to compromise her position at OCME if he or Lizzie missed something. He knew his father would ask.

* * *

Kate Beckett woke slowly, not knowing where she was. The first thing that registered to her senses was the taste of the gag in mouth, the second was after she tugged and found herself fully secured to what appeared to be a hospital grade exam table. She took stock of her surroundings noting with some relief that, other than her bare feet, she was still fully clothed. She struggled and scrabbled for purchase on the table, but her bare feet slid on the smooth surface of the table and she couldn't get enough friction to push against the restraints.

She heard a door unlock and open in the dimly lit room and a bright penlight dazzled her eyes as if checking for pupil dilation which made the figure of a woman before her fade to a dark silhouette. A hand reached out to touch her face. She turned away and tried to twist, but the bindings held her fast to the table as the slender hand stroked her cheek making her skin crawl.

"A shame really, such a pretty face." the younger sounding voice muttered before the hand traveled, performing what Kate knew from having been checked out several times by EMS in the field to be a physical assessment. The light was in her eyes again, though killing her night vision.

"Good," the woman's voice muttered. "I want you to be awake for what's to come."

The gag was pulled down and a straw was pressed to her lips.

"It's just water, Detective," the voice whispered, "if I wanted to poison you, you'd be dead already."

Kate took a few sips from the straw, if only to keep hydrated and buy time, working her jaw now that it was free of the gag.

"If you know I'm a cop, then you know the NYPD is out in force looking for me." Kate said, her voice a harsh whisper.

"They won't find you Detective. Not until I want them to," the voice replied with absolute conviction, "not until I'm done with you."

Kate froze for less than a second. She'd learned two things from the woman's statement. One, she was no longer in the city, though she had no idea where. Two, if she wasn't found soon, she would not be leaving this room alive.

She cried out and began to struggle in earnest, but the gag was replaced before she could speak again. The young woman was gone shortly thereafter, leaving Kate to struggle fruitlessly against the restraints holding her in place. Just before the door slammed shut, she heard a man's voice stage whisper harshly before the door closed and silence descended,

"What the hell have the two of you done?"

* * *

Castle was frantic at the crime scene where Kate's car was found. Her badge was face up on the driver's seat right next to her holstered weapon. There was no sign of a struggle, like a shadow had simply swooped in and she was gone. The two most central items to her chosen profession, tossed almost casually into her car were the only visible sign that she had not gone willingly.

"We have a body over here!" one of the uniforms stated.

Castle was off like a pistol shot in the direction of the uniform in question, all knowledge of how to behave at a crime scene suddenly lost at the sight of a chestnut-haired form face down on the pavement surrounded by a pool of blood with Kate's jacket draped over her.

"Oh God, Kate...no," Castle choked out, dropping to his knees next to the body, reaching out to stroke her hair, almost afraid to touch her, "I'm sorry baby...I'm so sorry."

His eyes were filled with tears as he turned the body over to reveal it wasn't her. His brain refused to process that for a moment, his mind's eye juxtaposing his wife's face, when he'd been kneeling over her in the grass begging Kate not to die. Only this poor unfortunate woman was not Kate Beckett, a reality that finally slammed home when he saw the note pinned to the lapel of Kate's jacket.

 _We'll meet again_  
_Don't know where, don't know when,_  
_But I know we'll meet again, some sunny day_  
_Keep smiling through_  
_Just like you always do_  
_Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away._

"Tyson," Castle growled, and with that name on his lips, a darkness descended over his countenance like a heavy blanket, his despair slowly and irrevocably eclipsed by a darker, more malevolent mindset. Ever since his experience in Hollander's Woods when he was eleven years old, he'd known he had a dark side. A nearly morbid fascination with death and the twisted minds of murderers.

He generally channeled that dark fascination into his writing, allowed it to fuel his creativity, drive him to write twenty seven best-selling novels. The last time it had overcome him this completely was when he'd tortured one of the men who'd kidnapped Alexis. He'd shocked everyone that night, including himself to be honest, by how much like his father he really was when it came down to it.

For the most part he had always kept that malevolent dark side of his nature caged, but at times like this, when the people he loved were threatened, it rose from its dark larder in his psyche, broke free from the shackles of will that bound it and threatened to swallow his soul completely if he let it.

If this sick son of a bitch had harmed Kate - or worse, - he vowed to himself that he would use every resource at his disposal, call in every marker owed him to track the man down. To the ends of the earth and beyond if necessary. When he found the bastard, he would unshackle the beast and give himself over to the madness gladly.

"This has something to do with Tyson anyway, I'm sure of it," Castle stated after barging into Captain Gates' office.

"Mr. Castle, Tyson is dead. Dr. Parrish triple checked her findings, those were definitely Tyson's and Nieman's hands, which were clearly dis-articulated postmortem. It isn't them." Gates stated, trying to be as supportive as possible under the circumstances.

Generally she would not have let him off the hook so easily for bursting into her office without knocking, especially after what he'd done to two of her Gemini dolls, but she was extending him much the same leeway she had when his daughter had been kidnapped.

"The United States Marshal's own forensics lab confirmed her findings from the prints and DNA they had on file since his escape from custody. Nieman might have been able to get people into our system, but the US Marshals don't take prison escapes lightly, it would not surprise me if they still have the Anglin brothers prints on file from Alcatraz."

"Perhaps not," Castle began, "but "Jack" went out of his way to tell Kate that he killed them..." Gates interrupted, finishing the thought for him, "...so if he's borrowing a page from their playbook, going through Dr. Nieman's financials and tracking her movements might give us some insight on where our unsub may have taken her."

Victoria Gates had seen Castle and Beckett do that more than once over the last three years, finish each others thoughts and sentences like they shared a brain in a freaky mind-meld sort of way. She had come to realize with much difficulty that it was part of the reason they worked together so well, and likely the reason why it took them so long to figure out that their connection could work outside of the precinct, too.

Unbeknownst to the two of them, she had won the unofficial office pool about when they would finally get their heads out of their asses and see what everyone else saw. She'd beaten Dr. Parish by a day and a half, then swore everyone who knew about it to secrecy.

Once upon a time she had been quite the practical joker of her cadet class and watching the two of them twist themselves into knots to hide their relationship from her had been a great source of amusement - until Alexis Castle had gone missing and his carefully crafted mask of the class clown that irritated the hell out of her dissolved in a heartbeat, showing her the humanity underneath. That same mask had slipped away again, and anyone with a soul could see that he was spiraling.

It felt strange to her, doing the shared brain thing with Beckett's husband, now. It had been more than a little creepy when they'd done it over the case involving the Wives of Wall Street. She found that she didn't like it any more this time either. This was supposed to be Beckett's thing and Gates wanted her detective back.

"You know, Mr. Castle,” she began, hoping to motivate him, “when I first got here I couldn't figure out what Beckett saw in you, but you know what she said? 'He sees the story, I see the evidence, where it leads, but he sees the story.' I need you to do that for me, now. That man got inside your head and hers, and you both let him. If you want to help her, you've got to turn it around and get inside his. What's his story? What's his next move going to be? You figure that out, and we'll find her."

* * *

**Later that day**

After Castle had left Sing Sing Correctional facility and his meeting with Marcus Gates, he felt a distinct wave of distaste. The man had given him next to nothing, only the address to a house in the woods, but it was more of a lead than he'd had since Kate was taken.

Jack had made his first big mistake. He thought it was Kate who knew Tyson best. Thought she was the one who had figured Jerry's game. But it had been him. He could get into that man's head much more readily than Jack ever could, because he had spent years sparring with that man. He was trying to play a game thought up by a man who didn't leave anything to chance. Including the possibility that somebody might try to ape him.

Castle had contacted one of his less than legal “connections” to take Nieman's financials apart the way only an aggressive computer hacker could. Tory was good, likely the best the NYPD had at what she did and he had no reason to mistrust her, but he knew people who were less concerned with legal niceties like search warrants and chain of evidence. People with unsavory reputations who owed him massive favors.

Try as she might to keep her less savory transactions under the radar, Dr. Kelly Nieman was still a semi public figure - plastic surgeons of her skill-set, who wanted to stay in business, had to be. Though her real estate transactions were shrouded and nothing tracked directly back to her, she'd needed very specific medical equipment to carry out whatever sick plan she'd been dreaming up for Kate, and most of them were neither the sort of things one could obtain without a medical license nor simply transport in the trunk of a car.

Half a dozen shipping orders, made one at a time over the course of over a year for all of the necessary equipment to set up a plastic surgery suite, all purchased quietly from supposedly different medical clinics she had worked with during her career, but with the same end destination: an address in White Plains.

Jack had erred.

Using Kelly Nieman's plan so exactly had drawn Castle's attention. Details were his forte. They sang out to him almost as clearly as bad grammar and the improper use of irony. It was time for Jack the Ripper to meet the only son of Jackson Hunt and find out that when Richard Castle's family was threatened, the poisoned apple did not fall far from the tree.

Castle opened the gun safe in the back of his closet. The one Kate had never known about until she had moved in after their wedding and produced a Sig Sauer P-226 and two empty magazines. Kate had been less surprised that he owned a gun than he thought she would be. He'd bought the thing when he'd begun researching Derrick Storm. He'd been careful not to tell Kate that it had been Sophia Turner who'd taught him to shoot, his former-muse-turned-traitor was still something of an open wound for them. It was the only other thing he'd gotten from the former KGB sleeper agent that had ever been put to good use. His prowess with firearms had allowed him to save Kate's life twice.

He disassembled the weapon and cleaned it, carefully oiling all of the moving parts, making sure everything was in perfect working order. He reached into the box of Black Talons and fully loaded both magazines. Jerry Tyson had gotten away because he'd been wearing body armor that night on the bridge. Castle would be prepared for that this time.

Castle was prepared for a lot of things when his cell phone rang, but the last thing he was prepared for was for it to be from Kate's phone. Her familiar image and distinct ringtone on his phone filled him with an undeniable sense of dread.

He unlocked his phone to find a text message along with a video file of Kate, gagged and secured to a table, her eyes wide as she struggled against the bindings holding her in place, the time stamp on the phone showing the video had been made mere minutes before. The text message grabbed his attention.

 _Detective Beckett is alive and unharmed._  
_Whether she stays that way is up to you._

 _I intend to give her back like I did the other cop._  
_No police, no feds or she dies like the whores._

 _Text back to her phone if you understand._  
_Instructions will follow._

It took Richard Castle only twenty seconds to respond to the text message that he understood. It was exactly the sort of message he had secretly hoped for since she'd been taken, because he knew their doer was hesitant to kill cops. He had let Hastings go, unharmed and unmolested when he'd had her at his mercy. Anyone else would have killed her to make his point.

This guy, in spite of how the media was portraying him as a maniac psycho, was not merely a mindless serial killer acting on some dark impulse. Gates was right, Jack had a story and an agenda, a goal he was working toward. One that even he knew might not see completion in his lifetime. How killing prostitutes factored in, Castle didn't have a clue, only that it had been going on at least since the autumn of 1888, possibly longer.

Even if the goal this modern day Jack the Ripper was working toward only made sense in his own twisted mind, killing cops certainly wasn't part of it. It wasn't much, but a slim hope was all Richard Castle had to hold on to at present.

 _I know you have been researching Dr. Nieman's_  
_finances and holdings off the books_  
_so you know the address._

_Be there in one hour. Come alone_

_If I see any cops, if you cross me,_  
_she will bleed out by the time you find her._

* * *

Castle double checked that the panic button was working on his phone on his way out the door after shooting a text to Ryan.

Checking with one of my non-cop-friendly sources If you don't hear from me in two hours send help.

Castle knew that he and Ryan had a rapport that he didn't share with Esposito. The two of them had bonded over their shared experience with Jerry Tyson. Esposito had his doubts, but he knew Ryan didn't.

He'd had Tory set his panic button to call Ryan, Esposito, and the precinct since he'd been certain he'd be with Kate at the time if anything went down, which was a good thing, since their suspect had Kate's phone. He checked the tracking app that Paula had insisted he install after the whole Christina Koterra affair, to make sure she was following the restraining order from his lawyer never to contact him again.

The app allowed him to record whoever called him. Even if it was a blocked number, it would record the location of the caller. Rick was never so thankful that Paula Haas could be such a territorial, vindictive harpy when it came to protecting her clients as he was tonight. The location of Kate's phone matched the one his hacker friend had outlined.

He hoped the timing he had worked out for police response time held up. He was taking a lot on faith in the universe that Jack would keep to form.

* * *

Kate had wondered why the young woman had returned until the light of a phone flashed in her eyes. She'd struggled and tried to say _"It's a trap!"_ through the gag, but it had come out sounding like unintelligible grunting. She looked into the camera and hoped it was Castle on the other end, hoping he'd know not to come even though she knew deep down that trap or not, he'd put himself in danger and come anyway.

Castle thought her captor was Jack. That he would release her like he did Detective Hastings. Only this wasn't Jack. It was somebody new, somebody much more violent, much more devious, with not even the tiniest shred of compassion or remorse Jack had displayed. She was much more dangerous than Castle was prepared for.

Kate twisted and flipped her fingers until she had turned her wedding ring around, slid it past her knuckle and began working the setting across the strap holding her left wrist to the table. The sudden, desperate realization of what the mysterious woman was planning, why she'd kept her alive this long, set her fingers to work to free herself with renewed vigor.

Her captor was going to make Castle watch her die before she killed him.


	25. Requiem

_“A last fire will rise behind those eyes_  
 _Black house will rock, blind boys don't lie_  
 _Immortal fear, that voice so clear_  
 _Through broken walls, that scream I hear”_   
“Cry Little Sister” Gerard McMann

_Previously_

_Kate twisted and flipped her fingers until she had turned her wedding ring around, slid it past her knuckle and began working the setting across the strap holding her left wrist to the table. The sudden, desperate realization of what the mysterious woman was planning, why she'd kept her alive this long, set her fingers to work to free herself with renewed vigor._

_Her captor was going to make Castle watch her die before she killed him._

* * *

Richard Castle pulled his black SUV into the long driveway and up to the house. He checked his phone, making certain he had ample bars on the indicator and that the panic button dutifully appeared on the screen when he unlocked it. He had to get to Kate before he used it though. He'd been to all of the crime scenes and he took Jack's implied threat to gut her like a fish if things went south seriously.

He only needed to keep Jack occupied for a short time after he hit it until the cavalry came. Until then he would protect Kate as best he could, with his own body if he had to. He had watched Kate bleed in his arms once before. Watched her die a short time later in the back of that ambulance. His worst imaginings took him back to that cemetery four years ago more times than he liked to contemplate in the hours since she was taken.

He would not let that happen again, not while he lived. He would fight for her, fight with everything he had for them, but if saving her life required his in trade, so be it. As long as he got to take that bastard down with him.

He didn't linger on that thought for long, however. He had more pressing concerns.

He'd received a text message from a number he didn't recognize shortly after leaving Manhattan, which he surmised to be a burner phone with instructions to text the number back when he arrived. He went through the motions of doing just that to cover his response to Esposito's voice in his ear.

"Stay cool, Castle, I have eyes on you."

It felt only mildly disconcerting to know that Javier Esposito was looking at him through the telescopic sight of a sniper rifle.

Since he couldn't risk using his own ESU issued sniper rifle he was currently holding the very rifle that had been used to shoot Kate. Technically, her shooting was still unsolved, since Cole Maddox had not been officially connected, so it had still been in evidence. Castle found it almost poetic justice that the weapon that had nearly taken her life was now being employed to rescue her. It felt almost... right, somehow.

The three of them had decided to keep Captain Gates out of the loop, but she was painfully aware of his penchant for going rogue (she'd created new standing orders in the precinct to account for it after all). His text to Ryan had been a ruse in case she had Tory monitoring his cell phone activity. The waivers he'd signed six years ago obviously covered a lot more than liability.

The small number of cops involved were way off the books on this one, out on a limb which they would be merrily sawing off behind them if it went sour. Castle made sure Velasquez and LT knew that before accepting their offer to come along. How LT had come up with all of the nondescript tactical gear (including appropriating the aforementioned sniper rifle) in such a small amount of time boggled his mind.

He would be peppering the man with questions later, if all went well. LT was quiet, but there was obviously a deep well of hidden layers behind his mild-mannered exterior. He needed to write a character like him into the next Nikki Heat.

Rick knew that somewhere in the hills overlooking this house, Javier Esposito was dressed in pattern disruptive clothing, his eye trained through the scope, acting as over-watch. Half a mile up the road, Ryan, LT and Velasquez were armed to the teeth and ready to swoop in upon his signal to breach the house.

Somewhere in that modest two story structure, Kate was alone with their killer, and it was his job to get to her, then send out the signal to breach. He was the tip of the spear and everything was riding on him. He had to get to Kate and keep her safe when the cavalry arrived and all hell broke loose.

_I'm parked in the driveway with the motor off._

The response was swift.

 _Come to the door and knock._  
I have a knife to your wife's throat,   
so no tricks

Castle got out of his SUV, walked to the door and knocked, trying not to draw attention to the pistol in the zipped pocket of the heavy motorcycle jacket thrown over his left shoulder which Kate had bought for him the first time they went riding on her motorcycle. He schooled his body language to give the impression this was a casual visit as instructed.

 _'Apparently the neighbors are nosy,'_ he thought darkly to himself, _'if this goes according to plan, they're gonna get an eyeful today.'_

A slender strawberry blonde in her late forties answered the door and beckoned him to come inside without speaking a word. _'Game on,'_ Castle thought to himself as he turned his attention to the foyer, hoping to get a feel for the layout. It was utilitarian in appearance, almost spartan in decor, a contrast with the outside of the house, which was quite rustic.

It was obvious that Kelly Nieman had not chosen it for the view or the few nosy neighbors, only it's isolated location and he shivered at the thought of what she'd likely had planned to do with Kate here, his penchant for the worst case scenario weaving all sorts of unpleasant variations on a theme, none of them ending well for his wife.

He was shaken from his reverie, when a rail-thin, almost wiry man with short cropped black hair, going prematurely gray at the temples slid open the double doors, the knife in its scabbard on full display at his hip.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Castle,” he began, “my name is Sebastian, though I believe you might know me better as _“Jack”_. The woman who met you at the door is my lovely wife, Elizabeth, whom you may recall speaking to on the phone last night.”

Castle whipped around to confront the woman who had kidnapped Kate, killed the prostitute who had lured her there and then covered her in Kate's jacket. He felt the pinprick in his arm a fraction of a second too late. His vision swam, he dropped the leather jacket and tottered on his feet as he fought to remain standing.

“This whole thing was not my idea,” Sebastian explained as the drug took effect, “I will have some most unpleasant news for you when you wake up in about half an hour, provided I set the dosage correctly.”

Castle dropped to his knees, Sebastian's face swam in his vision before he toppled face first onto the floor and saw only shadows.

**Ten Hours Earlier**

_“What the hell have you two done?”_

_Sebastian Keller boomed as he stormed into the house. He could sense his father's hand in this all too clearly. He had taken all too much of an interest in Sally, almost to the exclusion of David since they were young children. Had his father's convictions not run so deep, he would have almost thought it had been sexual in nature. He always took her on excursions separate from David, leaving him to be doted upon by mother, something he'd always found odd if David was supposed to take up work._

_“What you should have done with the other cop, father,” Sally replied petulantly._

_“That is not your decision to make, Sally,” Sebastian replied angrily._

_Without waiting for an answer from his headstrong daughter, he rounded on his wife and fixed her with a glare._

_“What the hell, Lizzie?” he began, “you know damned well that I never wanted Sally mixed up in this, why the hell did you, of all people betray me?”_

_His wife had the good sense to express at least some guilt for her part in this escapade, though he saw conviction behind her eyes too._

_This hadn't been a whim, she believed in what she was doing. She had taken up arms, against his wishes, to kidnap Detective Beckett either with or for their daughter, for reasons he had yet been made aware of. He was playing his part in the family legacy, just like father wanted, and yet his own wife, whom he once thought he could trust implicitly, was following her own agenda and keeping him out of the loop._

_“I did tell her no when she first asked,” she replied, “I didn't want to do this behind your back, but your father came to me and explained everything. Things he'd kept secret for years - from both of us. Sally was set on this course long ago. I didn't like it... but I'm her mother... I couldn't let her do this alone.”_

_“You should not have let her do this at all,” Sebastian hissed, “it wasn't her place, nor was it yours - or father's - I wanted her free of this, I wanted her hands to be clean.”_

_“That was never your decision to make, Father,” Sally said coldly._

_“The hell it isn't!” Sebastian spat back._

_“I'm not a child, Father!” Sally shot back._

_He'd be proud of her for standing up to him, like he'd never been able to do with his own father, if he wasn't so powerfully angry._

_“But you're my child,” Sebastian replied, his despair beginning to show through his rage._

_“I hear the voices, father,” she whispered and it shook him to the core. "The ones great great grandfather spoke of in his journals."_

_“I never wanted this for you,” he replied, which seemed to anger her all over again._

_“If not me, then who, Dad?” she spat at him, rage flaring to life in her eyes. “David? We both know he doesn't have it in him. Grandfather has always known. What were you going to do? Force him down the path like grandfather did to you? Make him torture me to death, like grandfather made you do to your whore of a sister, Nancy?”_

_The words were no sooner out of Sally's mouth, than his right hand shot out and slapped her in the face. Sebastian Keller had never once so much as raised his hand to his wife nor either of his children. There was almost nothing behind it, not even enough to redden her cheek, but Sally was so stunned, she fell to the floor in shock._

_“Don't you dare speak her name!” he roared._

_Father had beaten him to within an inch of his life the one time he had spoken his sister's name after the two of them had disposed of her body. He had been genuinely shocked his father had told her. Angry for a reason even he could not fathom. Whether it was to enforce his father's decree that she never existed, or to defend her, he had no idea._

_A sudden surge of darkness welled up until it nearly poured out of him, a darkness he now knew his father had put there - followed swiftly by the sudden realization that he was not the chosen one, only an abomination of his father's making to keep the cycle of violence going. The path for him had been a lie, forced down his throat by his own father._

_Sebastian watched the change come over his daughter and for the first time, saw a knowledge in her eyes that he had never noticed there before, something within her that he had never possessed himself. A predatory hunger he had only ever seen before in the eyes of his father._

_In that second he knew exactly what his daughter was and it filled him with both dread and a terrible sense of purpose. His daughter had been chosen, she heard the voices, where he had only ever heard the screams of his dead sister. He could see only one possible course left open to him now that he knew his entire adult life had been a lie._

_“Get out,” he hissed through clenched teeth._

_“Father?” she asked, and for one brief instant she was the daughter he thought he'd known for twenty years._

_“Sally, if you learn one thing from me that you hadn't from your grandfather, it will be this,” he said, his voice hollow with resignation. “Never kill a police officer if you can help it, not even a corrupt one. They never forget when you kill one of their own. It galvanizes them in a way you cannot imagine. I didn't hold back out of fear, or out of sentimentality, but because once this is done it cannot be undone.”_

_Sally moved as if to speak, but he silenced her with a glare._

_“No, Sally, you've forced my hand. If you hear the voices, if you truly are chosen, then I can't take the chance that Detective Beckett has seen your face. She and her husband must die. I only hope that you learn this one thing from me. Now get out, while your mother and I finish this."_

_To her retreating back, he whispered the same words his mother had, shortly before his killing spree began, on the day she entered the void._

_"May God go with you in all of the dark places you must walk."_

* * *

**The Present**

Richard Castle woke up groggily, his senses slowly checking in one by one. He could feel the zip ties digging into his wrists behind his back. He was in the dark, but not blindfolded if the silver of light from under the door was any indication.

He rolled and wiggled on the floor, testing the confines of the space he was in. Supply closet, his mind supplied, and he felt the stirrings of claustrophobia begin to rise. He twisted his wrists painfully in the zip ties, using pain to focus his mind, forced himself to regulate his breathing. Fighting for control of his mind and body as he shook off the effects of whatever drug Sebastian's wife had used on him.

Castle struggled and twisted, using the walls of the confined space to struggle to his knees and then to his feet just before the door opened to reveal Sebastian holding his gun in one hand and an auto syringe in the other.

"Ah, Mr. Castle, you're awake sooner than I expected." Sebastian said calmly, as if resigned to a course of action.

Castle knew that could not be a good sign.

"If you come quietly I will take you to your wife. I may be a monster, an abomination, but I'm a man of my word, even though you were holding out on me."  Sebastian held up the gun, drawing Castle's attention to it. "Very devious of you."

"I gave you no word to keep, Sebastian," Castle replied in a hoarse whisper.

"Indeed," Sebastian noted, "Lizzie will be ready to deal with your wife soon, and you should be together at the end, the same courtesy I extended to Tyson and his whore. However, your shared end will be much kinder. Though my time is short, the two of you have been worthy adversaries and I owe you that much."

Before Sebastian could say another word, or step closer, Castle bent forward and barreled shoulder first into the smaller man, the force of all two hundred pounds of enraged, desperate writer sending Sebastian sprawling across the room, both gun and syringe skittering out of reach in opposite directions.

Castle jumped up and down until he felt the satisfying snap of the zip ties breaking, thankful he'd done his homework after Maddox had tied them up three years ago as Sebastian leaped at him. Castle got a grip on his shirt and flung him into the opposite wall, then set himself as the smaller man came on again.

 _"Whoever taught him to fight did a pretty good job,"_ Castle thought to himself, but there was a reason Sebastian drugged his victims, the man simply didn't have the mass to take on somebody in Castle's weight class who could defend himself and was fighting for his life. Castle's fist snaked out and hit him solidly in the jaw, sending him sprawling over a desk, both him and the contents driven over the other side with a crash from the power of the blow.

When Sebastian came back up, with a cracked lip and favoring his right ankle, he had a long, straight knife gripped in his right hand like he knew intimately how to use it to his advantage, suddenly swinging the odds back in the killer's favor again.

Castle cast about for a weapon of his own and spied his gun in the corner. Unfortunately he would have to get past Sebastian and his killing weapon of choice to get to it. He knew he only had one shot, if he was going to rescue Kate. There were no points for effort.

"This is gonna hurt," he thought to himself as he steeled his resolve and charged at the man.

Sebastian narrowed his eyes, brought his knife up and attacked.

* * *

Kate was busily working the strap holding her left arm to the table, which was loosening with every sharp tug since she'd frayed and separated the bulk of the nylon webbing with her wedding ring. She didn't recall why she'd chosen to wear the rock instead of the simple gold band she usually wore to work, but that choice had since been paying off nicely.

Kate felt the strap partially give way right before she heard the lock turn on the door. She froze, hiding her efforts as best she could when the woman swung open the heavy steel door and stepped inside. She didn't want her attempt at escape to be detected. She had spied her own handcuffs on the table across the room along with her belt and boots. The last thing Kate wanted was for this woman to get it into her head to secure her to the table with those.

Kate still felt a little woozy and disoriented from whatever she'd been drugged with and had no idea how long she'd been held, or even whom her captors really were other than the woman who had examined her rather roughly earlier and the man's voice she'd heard before the door slammed shut and absolute silence descended in her prison.

The woman left the door slightly ajar as she crossed the space to lean over her and Kate did her best not to squirm or struggle too much as the woman smoothed back her hair, slipped the errant curls behind her ear before she pulled the gag from her mouth and gave her some water.

“Sebastian will be in shortly with your husband,” Elizabeth Keller whispered in her ear, “provided Mr. Castle doesn't put up too much of a struggle.”

Kate did her best to school her features, but her heart sank at the knowledge that they had Rick too, that she had taken too long to free herself. She barely noticed her captor had stepped away to retrieve something from a drawer a few paces away, with her back turned, then the bottom dropped out of her world when she heard the first gunshot, followed by two more.

“I suppose he must have put up a fight, Detective,” Elizabeth said, as she turned toward her with a surgical scalpel. “A pity, Sebastian was never fond of guns, they're too noisy.”

A single tear flowed down Kate's cheek as Elizabeth brought the knife closer before Kate's left hand shot out, snapped Elizabeth's slender wrist, then shoved the scalpel deep into her neck.

Elizabeth made a soft gurgling sound, her eyes wide with shock as the blade stabbed deep onto her neck and twisted slightly. The surgical instrument came away in Kate's hand as the woman staggered back from the table, her good hand unable to staunch the flow of blood as she wobbled backward then forward on her feet before she toppled face first onto the floor. A growing pool of blood quickly began spread out from her neck while Kate freed herself from the restraints.

“Castle...” Kate whispered, as she stared at the woman slowly bleeding out at her feet. Her back to the door, no longer caring who came through it, her heart empty with the belief that he was dead.

Esposito had waited for nearly half an hour since Castle had gone into the house with no idea what was going on inside. Though Castle should be able to hear him through the ear piece, they couldn't take the chance on a microphone. He didn't dare break silence to distract him either.

He was just about at the end of his rope, just about to say “fuck it” and send their ad-hoc strike team in to breach the house, when the piercing bark of gunfire echoed up to him.

“Ryan! Go! Go! Go!” he shouted into his radio as he dropped the sniper rifle, took up his M-4 and ran headlong down the hill toward the house.

Castle was bleeding from a shallow cut to his left arm from shouldering past Sebastian as he dove for his gun. The two of them had struggled for it, but Castle shrugged the smaller man off, pushing him back with ease.

When Sebastian came on again like a man possessed, Castle fired, the first shot went wild, barely grazing him, the second two caught him in the shoulder and high on the chest respectively, slamming Sebastian into the wall.

Moments later, he heard a battering ram make short work of the front door, then Ryan shouted ,

"NYPD! Freeze!"

Castle didn't wait for them before descending on Sebastian, shaking him.

"Kate! Where's Kate, you son of a bitch?!"

Sebastian was only partially conscious, his eyes intent on something only he could see.

"Nancy?" he muttered incoherently, "I'm sorry....I'm so sorry....Nancy!!!"

"Not Nancy, you bastard, Kate! Where's Kate, goddamn it?!"

Castle was about to slam his head into the floor when Ryan pulled him off.

"Castle, no, he can't hear you," Ryan whispered, nodding to Velasquez to take charge of the prisoner while they waited for the ambulance LT had called in. "We can sweep the place, we'll find her, okay?"

Castle nodded, his face a dull mask, moving by rote, holding the bandage Ryan handed him to his shoulder. They hadn't gotten far when Castle spotted a door slightly ajar, which he was certain had been closed securely when he entered the house. He headed straight for it, pulling the door open wide and stopping dead in the doorway at the tableau inside.

Kate's back was turned, her hand coated in blood and a scalpel clutched in her fingers. She was staring down at Sebastian's dead wife lying in a pool of her own blood. At the sound of his approach, she turned slowly to face him. Her eyes were open, but from their blank, glassy appearance, she did not see him. Her gaze was fixed, as if on a point a thousand miles away.

She didn't struggle or say a word when Castle slipped the weapon from the loose grip of her fingers and handed it to Ryan. She barely responded when he brushed his hand over her face except to turn her cheek into his touch before he pulled her to his chest.

"Shh Kate, I'm here, it's over." He pressed his forehead to hers, and for the first time she seemed to realize it was really him holding her.

"When I heard the shots... she told me you were... dead... " Kate whispered as she crumpled into his embrace, her voice choked with emotion, unable to finish the thought.

"Jack the Ripper shouldn't have brought a knife to a gunfight," Castle replied.

His attempt at humor fell flat, the words tumbling out mirthlessly. In spite of herself, the corners of Kate's lips twitched upward for a fraction of a second before she broke down, clutching him like she was drowning.

"I'm so glad you're okay," she whispered between sobs and for once Castle had nothing to say, so he just held her.

* * *

The elevator doors opened onto the 12th Precinct Homicide floor and when Rick and Kate stepped through them into view, flanked by Javier Esposito, Kevin Ryan, LT and Officer Velasquez, the whole precinct burst into applause.

When the hubbub died down, Captain Gates appeared from out of her office, a scowl painted on her face that didn't quite make it to her eyes.

"That was the stupidest, most reckless, irresponsible stunt you've ever pulled, Mr. Castle," she said with enough fire to silence the entire room. Every eye was turned to Castle as Gates glared at him for a moment longer, before her face softened and she smiled at him. "Thank you."

With that, the room burst into applause once again. Now was the time to celebrate. They had recovered Detective Kate Beckett. She was battered and emotionally scarred, but she was safe. Everything had worked out in the end as far as they knew.

"Sebastian Keller has been transferred to the secure wing of Cedar Sinai Hospital. He's expected to make a full recovery in order to face murder charges," Captain Gates said. “According to the State Trooper who accompanied him, he kept muttering about someone named Nancy."

"I did a full database search," Tory stated, " but I couldn't find any records of a previous victim named Nancy, though a wider database search against his name did turn up a single notation for a Nancy Keller. An arrest for solicitation back in 1989, but nothing else. It's like she never existed before or after her arrest. All other records of her were wiped clean."

“He has a son in law school, upstate, David Keller, and a daughter named Sally in med school, she's interning with OCME this semester, in fact. Officers have been sent to take their statements, but it doesn't appear that they were involved in any of their parents' activities.”

Shortly afterward, the precinct returned to normal. Though Kate and Rick had been sent home after giving their statements, there was still work to be done, paperwork to be filled out and other murderers to be caught. New York was the city that never sleeps and the same could be said for its killers.

Sebastian Keller's reign of terror was over, the "Manhattan Ripper" had been caught and was going to face justice.

Or so they thought.

* * *

**Three days later**

Cedar Sinai ICU Sebastian Keller woke slowly, not knowing where he was. The last thing he could remember were the gunshots, his back hitting the wall before everything faded to black.

He tried to move, only to find that he was secured to the bed, much like Detective Beckett had been, except for his right arm, which was wrapped tight and did not respond to his commands, not even his fingers. It was heavily bandaged and he dimly remembered being hit there.

“Bullet must have wrecked my shoulder, perhaps even done nerve damage,” his mind supplied slowly, recalling some of his medical training. He was breathing with difficulty, finally noticing the nasal canula in his nostrils. He should have a blood pressure monitor on his fingertip, but it was missing and he couldn't figure out why, until a voice he recognized reached his ear.

“You didn't think I could simply walk away and leave you... like this... did you, father?”

The voice belonged to his daughter, but he barely recognized the woman standing in front of him. Sally's features were there, but she was wearing makeup in such a way as she never had before. Her flaming red hair, the same shade as Alexis Castle's (which she had previously taken the greatest care to color the same shade as her mother's) cascaded over her shoulders, making her look just like Nancy used to.

She truly was the spitting image of his twin sister, always had been if he was being honest with himself.... a thought he had never truly allowed himself to entertain until now. He had long ago taken to having his own red hair dyed black at father's insistence, so as to not stand out.

“What about your mother, Sally?” he asked, his voice raspy from being intubated.

“Dead,” Sally hissed, her voice dull and emotionless, as she watched her father's grief crescendo, the tears form in his eyes and slip down his cheeks to drip onto his hospital gown, “that bitch, Detective killed her, just stood there and watched her bleed out.”

She did not allow her angry feelings to fester for long, she had so much to do. The voices were calling her elsewhere... to take the work back to where it had begun. To bring the family crusade full circle. There was only one loose end, however. One last bit of family business to take care of.

She loved her father dearly, but he was an abomination, an anomaly that could not be allowed to fester. He didn't truly believe, not really, and some well-meaning psychologist looking to make a name for himself might one day crack him open. It had already begun. She'd read all of the reports when Dr. Parish wasn't looking, he had been calling out to that whore sister of his. Begging her to forgive him, as if he had been the one who'd sinned.

 _“He can no longer be trusted to walk the path.”_ The voices whispered in her mind.

From the look that crossed his eyes, she could see that he knew what she was here for. That, he accepted it. The voices demanded a sacrifice from her, equal to the one Grandfather had demanded of him.

It was the only way to save his soul.

She slipped her great great grandfather's blade out from under her lab coat. On her last day at OCME, she had liberated it from evidence storage, along with every sample of his DNA, swapping it with those taken from Jerry Tyson. No one would ever be the wiser.

“End my torment,” her father whispered, tears still streaking down his face, she was unsure if they were for her or for her mother, “be on with it, sweetheart and be on your way.”

“Go in peace, father, your work is done.” she whispered, before slipping the knife into his neck, putting her full weight behind it to make sure she severed the spinal cord cleanly so he would not suffer, then watched carefully as his eyes glazed over, staring up into nothing.

“Go to her,” she whispered, before she closed her father's sightless eyes and left.

Sally had drugged the night charge nurse just before she left to make her rounds and slipped her into the bed next to her father's with his pulse monitor on her finger, then took her place. The woman would not be missed until the shift changed in three hours, and perhaps another hour before anyone thought to come looking in her father's room. The police shift change would be two hours after that. She would be halfway to London under an assumed name before anyone knew her father was dead.

As Sally slipped out of the hospital, she knew that one day there would be a reckoning.

Detective Beckett had visited her at OCME the day before, had actually thought her patronizing words would fix the hole she had opened in her soul by stabbing her mother to death and watching her die on the floor like a piece of garbage. She'd smiled and nodded, and pretended to accept the woman's empty platitudes, but inside, Sally Keller raged and hated and plotted. _“One day,”_ she thought to herself, _“Kate Beckett will die screaming, begging me for mercy.”_ But not before she killed everything that Kate Beckett loved, starting with the pretty redheaded stepchild that she was so fond of.

The very next day, Sally Keller resigned from her internship at OCME and disappeared.


	26. Epilogue

_"Blessed be the LORD,my rock_  
_who trains my fingers to fight_  
_and my hands to war."_  
Gen. George S. Patton paraphrasing Psalm 144:1 (KJV)

 

_Previously_

_Detective Kate Beckett had visited her at OCME the day before, had actually thought her patronizing words would fix the hole she had opened in her soul by stabbing her mother to death then stood and watched while she bled to death on the floor like a piece of garbage. She'd smiled and nodded and pretended to accept the woman's empty platitudes, but inside, Sally Keller raged, and hated and plotted._

_"One day," she thought to herself, "Kate Beckett will die screaming, begging me for mercy," But not before she killed everything that Kate Beckett loved, starting with the redheaded stepchild she was so fond of._

_The very next day, Sally Keller resigned from her internship at OCME and disappeared._

* * *

**Two Years Later**

Kate Beckett's injuries had not been severe, nor did the night she spent in captivity (the majority of which she was unconscious) cause her much more than the expected amount of anxiety. What took the most time for her to reconcile was the death of Elizabeth Keller. After a month of sessions with Dr. Burke, Kate had begun to accept in her head that she'd been given little choice but to defend herself in that darkened room that night. That it had been kill or be killed.

But her heart and her conscience were a different matter.

Even after a year of therapy, her heart still had trouble letting go of the notion that she had left two people without a mother, neither of them much older than she had been when her own mother had been taken from her under similar circumstances, the thrust of a knife in the dark. That she had done nothing to help the woman once she was no longer a threat came back to haunt her again and again, even though by the time she had freed herself the woman's death had been a foregone conclusion.

Her own feelings of guilt and remorse never ceased to remind her that she had done more to save Dick Coonan, the man who had murdered her own mother and for John Raglan, the man who'd covered that murder up, than she had for their mother - in spite of the fact that, by all accounts, Elizabeth Keller had been every bit the fringe religious sociopath that her husband had been and would have left Alexis alone in this world without a second thought.

It took her nearly the whole two years to come to terms with that night. Longer than it had taken to come to terms with her shooting, Castle's declaration of love and the torture session at the hands of Vulcan Simmons combined.

The top brass had offered her a promotion to Lieutenant, it was a political appointment, and she knew it, but she'd accepted anyway, unsure if she ever wanted to be on the street again.

Such a promotion should have filled her with a sense of accomplishment, but had only served to make her feel even worse. After she had been handed the box with her new shield in it and her rank insignia, she'd stood next to that podium in her dress uniform while Mayor Weldon pinned a Medal of Valor to her chest, and she felt sick inside.

She'd torn it from her dress uniform jacket as soon as they'd gotten back to the loft, not caring that she'd torn a section of material off with it, locked herself in their ensuite bathroom and cried.

Just like he always had, it had been her husband who saved her from herself.

He'd picked the lock, taken her in his arms and let her cry herself out, speaking not a word until he was sure the worst of it was over. After the final spasm of sobbing was done, he whispered the only words in her ear he could think of.

_“Kate, Elizabeth Keller was not your mother.”_

_“I know... but... I just... she was somebody's mother... I should have.”_

_“But nothing” he stated almost angrily, “you had one option, and only one. You took it. She's dead and you're not. She put you in that room and put a knife to your throat.”_

_“But...” Kate was only halfhearted in her attempt to refute him._

_“There was nothing you could have done after either,” Castle stated, giving her the facts, “Lanie walked me through it, Kate. She was dead before you had any chance of getting out of those restraints. I did the research, even had Alexis help me walk through it with the very same style of restraints. Not even cutting them off would have given you enough time to stop her from bleeding out.”_

_She opened her mouth to say something else, but Castle stopped her._

_“Don't even think that you should have found another way to subdue her. You were bound to a table and she was going to slit your throat, Kate. Had she succeeded, I would have put two in her head as soon as I walked in the room. She would still be dead.”_

_“But her children?” she asked._

_“Will have to figure things out for themselves just like you did.” Castle said, hating how cold he sounded about it. “Kate, those two kids have much larger issues to tackle than the fact that you killed their mother in self defense.”_

It had not been one of their happier conversations, but it did lead to the breakthrough she'd needed to begin to heal. She had been well on her way back to feeling like herself again by the time she made Captain.

The murder of Sebastian Keller was never solved. There were only a handful of people who might have had motive to kill him, including Richard Castle and Kate Beckett, but everybody had been accounted for during the window of opportunity. The only evidence to work from had been an impression of the knife used to kill him, which left more questions than answers.

It almost exactly matched the knife he'd used on all of the victims which was supposed to have been in evidence. Only it was gone. Dr. Lanie Parish had spent more than a few days in the hot seat, both for the disappearance of the knife from her lab's evidence storage vault, and as a suspect, but was eventually cleared of any wrongdoing on both counts.

In the end, with little or no evidence, a dwindling suspect pool and no new leads, his case went cold. Nobody suspected his killer had been on a plane halfway across the Atlantic Ocean, never to be seen again.

* * *

**Two more years later London, England**

Dr. Sally Keller climbed the steps out of the London Underground, making a beeline for her flat. It had been a long night's work. Her latest prey had been difficult to track, just like Elena Markov had been for her father, but Sally had fixated on her because she so closely resembled Detective Beckett that she could not let this prostitute go. She had been hard to pin down... streetwise, smart and quick, just like the detective was. But in the end she managed to catch her unawares and stick the needle in her shoulder.

After that, Sally had driven her to the abandoned warehouse on the Thames where she did most of her dirty work and took her time taking the whore apart, just like she wanted to do to the woman who killed her mother. Her screams were music to her ears... She mutilated her face, and upper torso, cut her abdomen open to remove her viscera and somewhere during the process, the woman died.

"What a pity," Sally had thought when she removed the surgical gloves from her hands, "I was so hoping to draw it out longer."

She made a mental note to curb her excitement when she got her hands on the actual detective. Keep her alive as long as possible. Make her agony last for days and days. Make her beg to die, before sending her back to her husband one body part at a time.

Savor each scream and whimper as she cut her.

Sally couldn't help the small smile from crossed over face as she opened the door to her building. This had been her tenth kill in the six weeks since she had begun in earnest. Abomination though he was, her father was right about one thing. Planning was key. Know the ground and the players. Know who the cops are, how to spot the decoys by their security details, how to avoid the security cameras that were part of every day life in London.

Her father had kept meticulous notes during his initial planning stage, she did the same. It made hunting so much easier, left so little to chance. She added her own tricks to her repertoire, however, making her kills a little harder to find than father had. Not that she faulted his technique, but because she needed more lead time to clean herself up before her phone rang.

Her job with the London Coroner's office made it so much easier to control what Scotland Yard's finest knew and when they knew it in order to keep them off the scent. This was not the backward Metropolitan Police of her great, great, great grandfather's day. She could not trust to luck and the sewers to keep herself from being discovered.

The address Scotland Yard had on file for her was on the other side of the Whitechapel district from her flat. The former location of great great great grandfather's meat market, which as it turned out was a tenement house now. She rented a mailbox with the delightful elderly lady who ran the place who thinks she uses it as fake address to give men trying to pick her up the slip.

Her "friends with benefits" relationship with the lead detective on the case, Chief Inspector Colin Hunt didn't hurt either. She had him wrapped around her little finger. His fragile male ego would never allow him to believe that the woman who had occasionally shared his bed for the last two years was the killer he'd spent the better part of six weeks chasing.

That he was easy on the eyes and a fantastic lay was simply a side benefit. "Detective Beckett had no idea what she'd been missing" she mused to herself as she stepped into the lift and pushed the button for her floor. His connection to the Detective she despised made her relations with him so much sweeter.

If he ever did get too close, she would eliminate him, of course. It would be quick and painless, she owed him that much consideration given his entertainment value. Until then, however, he was useful to her and she would continue to enjoy his obvious talent in the bedroom.

Her heart and soul otherwise belonged to the work, ever since that fateful day in her gynecologist's office when she learned that she was barren. That the gift of the voices had come with a price. Her hope for the future would have to depend upon her brother David and his twin girls. They were mere infants now, she had plenty of time.

When the time was right, she would have to return to New York and look in on her brother and his family. Watch the twins carefully for signs one of them heard the voices. Keep them from straying if they did not. She would not repeat her grandfather's mistake and create another abomination like her father. If the gift skipped a generation she would be patient and continue the work.

Sally contemplated a lot in the slow moving elevator to her fourth floor flat. She had taken the so-called “Jack the Ripper” tour on her first day in London. It had been both educational and infuriating in equal measure. Not nearly as illuminating as his personal journals had been. He was still feared, still seen as something of a boogeyman, a shadow haunting this district, even though it had grown and prospered since he had conducted his cleansing back in 1888.

“One day,” she thought to herself, “Great, great, grandfather will be exonerated by history, proven right for the visionary he was.” It did not matter to her if that day never came in her lifetime.

Sally unlocked her door and stepped inside, not noticing anything was amiss until she toed off her shoes, walked into the living area and the floor lamp next to her reading chair suddenly switched on.

"You are a very difficult woman to track down, Dr. Keller," said a gray haired man who had to be pushing eighty, sitting in her easy chair, a silenced automatic in his hand, pointed directly at her chest. His voice was almost casual, as if he was an invited guest in her home and they were merely having a conversation about the weather.

"I value my privacy," Sally responded coldly.

She could tell the moment their eyes met, however, that this man was no amateur sleuth like Richard Castle. She could see in the cold, icy depths of his cobalt blue eyes that this man was well acquainted with dispensing death. That she was a strikingly beautiful woman in her own right - much like her mother had been - made absolutely no difference.

“I imagine so,” he continued, undeterred, “considering what you've been up to for the last few years. What is it, nine women dead now?”

“Ten,” Sally corrected, in spite of herself. “What does it matter? They were all whores, women of no value or importance.”

“They were still somebody's daughter, somebody's sister...” he began, though he didn't let himself get worked up. His use of the word “sister” did strike a nerve, however.

“My father's sister was a whore, and she died like the rest of them, by his own hand no less!” she spat at him.“The world will drown in their blood and be washed clean.”

He shrugged as if he was nothing more than a neighbor there to inquire about borrowing a cup of sugar. She never even saw the two shots coming as he pulled the trigger, never even registered the pop-zing of the silenced weapon, only the pain as both of her kneecaps evaporated in a pink mist, sending her toppling to the floor.

She keened and whimpered in pain, knowing nobody would hear her. She had chosen this place because nearly all of the other tenants in the building were deaf.

“It... it can't end... like this,” she gasped, “I have... a...a destiny...I was...chosen... like grandfather...”

The man interrupted her, passion suddenly filling his words with emotion,

“Let me tell you something about Jack the fucking Ripper,” he said with obvious disgust, “or whatever the fuck his real name was.” He walked closer bending low to make sure she would not miss a word.

“I don't care what line of bullshit you've been fed your entire life, but he was not a messenger, not a reformer, not a prophet, nor a hero or anything to aspire to. He was just a psychopath and should have been put down like the mad dog he was before he ever had the chance to breed.”

He gave that a moment to settle, before he spoke again,

“Tell Jack on your way to hell, that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle sends his regards.”

His words were punctuated by two more silenced shots from his pistol into her forehead. She jerked twice and lay still.

Jackson Hunt felt a strange sense of accomplishment, having just finished something that three generations of his family line had been working toward for over one hundred years. With any luck the sickness that plagued the Keller family line was finally extinguished.

He searched her place methodically, until he found all of the journals, everything of Jack the Ripper's that could be found. The last thing he did was take the knife that had shed the blood of so many innocent lives, set the blade into the stone counter top and snapped it in half, leaving both halves on top of her body.

“Only one more thing left to do, Great granddad,” he whispered softly out loud.

Little did his son know, that not only was he a direct descendant of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, but that consulting for the police was something of a family trait. Though admittedly he had strayed from that part of the family legacy. For what needed to be done, the life of a CIA assassin was a much better fit.

As he walked out of the apartment building, he opened his cell phone and checked his reservations out of Heathrow for Syracuse international airport. He would deal with the grandfather shortly. Though David Keller and his family would have to be watched carefully, he seemed like a true anomaly in the family line, much like his father, Sebastian, had been. By all accounts. he was a straight arrow. A decent man.

“A shame I couldn't have gotten to the old bastard years ago,” he thought to himself, allowing a small amount of guilt to enter his heart, “I might have been able to save Sebastian and his sister, too.” He had no further need to dwell in his sorrows as he had a plane to catch.

* * *

**Two weeks later**

_The following article appeared beneath the fold of the Syracuse Herald:_

_Dr. Robert Keller, a retired cultural anthropologist was found dead yesterday morning from what the Syracuse Police Department are reporting as an accidental self inflicted gunshot wound to the head. Most noted for his work with the Chicago Field Museum, Dr. Keller consulted with the Chicago police department during a series of violent murders between 1947 and 1949. The Killer or killers were never caught._

_His son was Sebastian Keller, the infamous Manhattan Ripper. He is survived by his grandson, David Keller of Albany, NY and two great grandchildren, Alicia and Christine. Calling hours are scheduled between two and four o'clock with the funeral the next morning at seven When he is to be laid to rest beside his beloved wife Gretchen._

Jackson Hunt put away the newspaper he'd been reading on the train to New York City. _“Maybe it's about time to finally retire. Perhaps someplace sunny,”_   he thought to himself. He might check up on Richard and his family first, it had been a long time since he was last there and he had not yet paid a visit to Alexis personally since rescuing her two years ago. She at least deserved to have a face to go with the name of her grandfather. Even if that name was an alias.

He knew Kate didn't really like him all that much, but he did hear that she was expecting, and he knew how much Martha wanted more grandchildren. It would be nice to see them all under pleasant circumstances for once, even it it was for the last time. He still had a few enemies who were active and didn't want to cause them unnecessary drama, so he would disappear unless he was needed.

He might let it slip to Richard in private before he left though, that a certain black SUV which had run him off the road, complete with its occupants, were at the bottom of the ocean in international waters so he could stop looking over his shoulder.

Jenkins should have known better, he'd told the damn fool he had the situation with Al Qaida handled. Taking care of these sort of things was his job, NOT his son's. it was what the CIA paid him handsomely for. He'd made that perfectly clear when he'd told him to leave his son out of it. The idiot didn't listen, still tried to kidnap his son as a go-between, screwed it up, nearly killed him in the botched attempt, then tried to frame Bracken to cover it up.

It was a mistake he would never live to make again.

Though Richard and his wife seemed content to blame former Senator Bracken, he was well aware that the only assassin who had still taken his calls always turned that one down. Detective Beckett didn't like him, but she preferred the truth to even her own imaginings. He would tell her what he could, without breaking security and then leave it alone.

After that, Jackson Hunt would let his family live in peace, they had certainly earned it. He had stared for far too long into the abyss, hunting monsters and did not want to bring the darkness he'd found there too near to his grandchildren, lest they follow in his footsteps.

This would end with him.

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a long, strange trip this has been, writing this. I want to thank Cofkett for being my Beta through this whole affair, Dtrekker for making the cover art, (which you can see on FF.net) 
> 
> Looking forward to working on something not quite this dark. But you know me, anything can happen.


End file.
